I'll Be Back In Time
by Pazelu
Summary: When Robin Hood gets teleported through time to modern-day Zootopia, Nick Wilde takes it upon himself to help Robin grow accustomed to his new home...and in turn gets zapped back to Robin's own homeland of Nottingham, where he, Robin, and Officer Wolford must remove the tyrannical Prince John from power, all the while receiving help and hostility from an anonymous scientist.
1. Where'd I Go Just Now?

"Well, that worked out nicely."

I'm duly surprised by my luck. I had assumed that my arrow had flown too high. What luck to have it corrected by the wind and fall right on top of my target! I turn to Little John.

"That was a rather fortunate turn of events, eh, Johnny Boy?" I say, my ears perking up in gaiety.

He looks at me with a smile on his face to rival that of my own. "You're the best, Rob," he says cheerfully. "I didn't think you'd be able to hit that apple, but boy, did you prove me wrong!"

"That was marvelous, Robin!" My love praises me.

I bow. "Thank you, my darling Marian. Now to see if Johnny can match it."

"Oh, Lord knows I'm not Robin Hood," he says.

"Oh, come now, don't be shy." I take an arrow from my quiver and hold out my bow for him to use. "Here, Johnny. Try your skill."

He accepts it a bit timidly, attempting to disguise his timidity with confidence. I hand him the arrow, which he immediately nocks. He tilts the bow upward, mimicking my own strategy, as I sit down next to Marian on the log we've been using for observing each other's antics. I feel her paw slowly, quietly, wrap around my own. I squeeze it affectionately and turn to look into her eyes. I smile at her, and she does the same. I give her a quick kiss on the lips.

"I can't think of a better way to spend a day than this, my love," I tell her. "Enjoying an afternoon with the two people I care most about in the whole land." I sigh contentedly. "It's times like these my appreciation of our love becomes so much more fervent."

She giggles bashfully. "Oh, Robin," she says. "You're so romantic."

I bring her paw to my lips and kiss it. "That's only because I've found someone who loves me as much as I love them."

"All right, you two," comes Little John's amused, chuckling voice. "Save the lovey-dovey stuff for when I'm not around." I focus my attention on him. He looks ready to let the arrow soar.

"And...there it goes!" John lets go of the bow, sending the arrow into the sky. I look for it in the bright blue afternoon sky, but I detect no trace of it. I wait, hoping to spy it in the air. But as the seconds pass by, I get less certain that it hasn't already hit the ground.

Little John turns to us. "Whoops," he says sheepishly. "Well, I _did_ warn you that I'm not the best at this kind of thing."

I chuckle. What an amusing thing to say! Before I can stop myself, I begin to laugh heartily. I hear John join in soon after, and even Marian gives a small laughing noise. "Oh, Johnny!" I say. "You're so entertaining!"

"Well, someone's got to keep your spirits up." John gives a shrug. "After all, we _did_ almost get caught last time."

I keep my smile as long as I can, but it slowly fades away. Yes. The last time. That wretched feeling of my life slipping from my body. My helplessness to save myself. The merciless pull of the rope around my throat. I thought death had finally caught me. And then...then...well, I can't recall _what_ happened. What memories of that miraculous escape remain in my head as mere blurs: lying on the ground, slowly falling into unconsciousness, and a figure...a figure of whom I have a vague clue. Or, at least, so I tell myself. I frown at the wet grass in between my claws. My life seems so much more enjoyable now that I've nearly lost it, but at the same time...I'll lose it eventually. And when I do...Prince John will make me suffer. There is no doubt to be found in my head. I've made a fool of him too many times for a merciful death. The most excruciating thing he could possibly imagine... _that_ 's what he will use to provide me with my end. But I have no intention of ruining our lovely afternoon. I laugh aloud to mask my sorrow, keeping Little John and Marian safe from the truth. "You've succeeded, John," I tell my dear friend. "With you around, there's not a tear to be seen!"

He grins at me. "Hey, Rob," he asks, "you been down to see the friar recently?"

"What? Friar Tuck is back? Has he returned from his trip to London?" I thought he said he would be returning to Nottingham at a later date.

John gives me a confused look. "He left for somewhere?"

I am easily as confused as he. "Didn't he tell you he left for London for a meeting of English leaders of the church?"

John shakes his head. "No…" he responds slowly.

Marian laughs. "Oh, you two! Always so mirthful."

I give her a smile. "Such a lovely lady deserves a show, does she not?"

She waves a paw at me bashfully. "Now, stop that, you scoundrel!" she laughs.

John gives me back my bow. "Come, now, Roh-bear." He utters my name with a French accent. "Shall we see the friar?"

I give a wide shrug. "Why not? I _have_ wanted to ask him something, after all." I extend my hand to my love. "Will you be joining us, my dear?"

She gives me an entertained smile. "Of course, darling," she says as I take her paw gently.

"Robin! Robin!"

I hear the friar calling my name from behind. What a fortuitous arrival. I turn to see him running as fast as he can to us. He looks to be in a bit of pain from the effort.

"Ah, talk of the devil!" I say merrily. "Welcome back to Nottingham, Friar Tuck! What's the news?"

He stops in front of us, breathing heavily and putting his hands on his bent knees. "Oh, I'm...I'm so sorry, Robin," he gasps.

Little John gives a nervous chuckle. "Heh heh, what are you talking about, friar?"

"It's...Puh...Prince John. He's coming!"

And as he says it, I hear, faintly, the sound of the royal carriage approaching, quickly. "He's not lying, John," I say. My spirit lifts. At last, a bit of danger!

"Let's have some fun, then," I tell them. "Come on!" I break into a run, beckoning them to follow. Why should we not have fun with the thrill of the chase? I grab an arrow from my quiver, nock it, and turn around. Pausing only for a moment, I let the arrow fly, watching it ascend to the sky before resuming my running. This is what I love: the excitement of being hunted, the choices I must make in the blink of an eye, the feeling of a purpose in life...even if it would lead to the end of my own. The forest is a blur of greens and reds and yellows, flying past my vision as I put each foot in front of the other. I step to the side when something obstructs my path and focus on nothing but the quickest way to safety. I chance a look behind me. Little John. Marian. The friar. No one is slowing down. I give them all a smile of confidence.

A stabbing pain seizes hold of my ankle. I hear myself cry out in pain. The ground rushes to meet me, and my muzzle is thrown into the dirt with vicious force. I roll once, twice, three times and stop. My ankle feels as if it is on fire. I grab it with both paws in a hopeless attempt to assuage the pain. The others catch up to me and gather around.

"Are you okay, Rob?" Little John asks me, his face full of concern.

I wince as my ankle sends a wave of agony over my leg, but I try to pretend I'm fine. "It's nothing," I say, gritting my teeth. "Probably just a bit of a twist."

"I don't know, Robin." The friar kneels to look at it.

"Wait!" I protest. "Keep going. Don't worry about me. I'll make it. I've had wounds much more terrible than this."

The horses are getting closer, and the joy of the game is replaced by the uneasiness of potential death. There is no way I will be able to get away, but the others...if they can run fast enough, they might evade capture.

"Please," I beg them to leave me behind. "I won't escape today, but you can. Go! Run, before they find us here!"

Marian grabs my paw. "Robin, we can't leave you here!" she says to me, tears in her eyes.

I shake my head, tears now welling up in mine. "You must. It's the only way to save me. If they don't catch you, then you can break me out of the prison. Please. Go. I can't run fast enough."

Little John grabs her by the shoulder.

"As much as I hate to say it," he tell her, "Rob's right. We have to leave him here for now. We'll set him free before Prince John can do anything."

She looks at him, then back at me. With no warning, she places her lips on mine. Only for a moment does she do so, but that moment filled me with courage, courage to face whatever might happen to me in the dungeon.

"I love you, Robin," she says as Little John forces her to run.

"I love you too, Marian," I return her gesture. The friar looks at me.

"I'll pray for you, son," he says.

I swallow; the pain is getting worse. "Thank you, Friar," I tell him.

"Oh, no," Little John says, worried. "They're here."

I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Marian gasps and puts a hand over her mouth. Friar Tuck's eyes widen in fear as a crowned, robed figure approaches. Prince John. He walks to me calmly as his guards surround us, brandishing their sharp-edged swords, arrows, and spears. I meet his gaze with defiance.

"So!" he gloats triumphantly. "The infamous Robin Hood captured once again. And this time-" He looks to the rest of the group, all taken captive by the tyrant's royal guards. "-I've captured your friends, as well."

The capture means nothing to me. "I've bested your prison walls before," I remind him, blinking tears out of my eyes and trying to ignore the searing pain in my paw. "I shall do so again with great pleasure."

Prince John gives a menacing chuckle, and I suddenly become much more uneasy. He never laughs when he captures me; what made this so different? He reaches for something. What is it? The glint of a blade peeks out from his robes as he unsheathes a dagger. Now I fear for my life. This isn't a capture. This is an execution. Marian emits another audible gasp.

"You see," he explains as he advances towards me, waving the dagger threateningly. "I simply can't have you breaking your fetters and escaping the dungeon again, Hood. So…" He gives a cruel laugh. "...I merely need to dispose of you as quickly as possible."

"Now, listen, buster," Little John begins to defend me. "If you so much as lay a hand on him, I'll-"

Prince John's fist connects with his stomach, and he doubles over in pain. He shifts his gaze between Marian and Friar Tuck. "Do either of you wish to protest justice?"

I start to talk, but my first attempt comes out as a groan. I try again. "Justice? Taking my life isn't justice. It's murder. What have I done to merit such a fate?"

He narrows his eyes. "You've stolen more gold from the castle than I can remember. That was not yours to take."

"And it was not yours to take, either," I bite back. "That gold belongs to the people who worked for it. You have no right to collect such an unfair amount of taxes."

He drags his fist across my cheek, snapping my head to the side.

" _You_ have no right to question _me_ ," he spat. He looked at a pair of his guards, unoccupied with holding my friends' arms behind their backs, and throws them a long piece of rope. "String him up," he says to them.

"No, Robin, no!" Friar Tuck yells. "Don't do this!" He pleads Prince John to let me go.

Prince John merely laughs evilly. "It's too late, friar. Be glad _you_ don't share his fate."

I feel them tighten the rope uncomfortably about my throat, choking me slightly. I give a straining cough. The prince takes note and looks at the guards.

"What are you doing?" he asks impatiently. "He doesn't deserve such a painless death as hanging! Now, tie the rope to that branch there and use the extra rope to bind him by his wrists!" He points at a tree branch above my head.

The rope parts itself from my neck and I watch as the guard throws the rope over the branch and ties three knots in it. I hear Marian beseeching with Prince John.

"Please, sire, spare him, I beg you!" she cries.

"He's chosen his path!" the prince lashes out. "And now he reaps what he has sown!"

Marian collapses, eyes full of tears. "Please, don't do this! He doesn't deserve to die this way!"

"You are _wrong_ , my lady!" the prince yells. "He deserves much more than this! I am being _merciful_ by executing him this way!"

Marian's sobs continue; I know she won't be able to stop herself. How many times have I seen her weep before an execution? This is no different. A tremendous force is put on my wrists; I groan in pain. I feel myself being raised up, and I every so slowly inch higher and higher until I'm dangling above the ground, my tail brushing the dirt.

Prince John bares his claws and grabs hold of my tunic. The tips of his paws cut my skin ever so slightly as he rips the cloth into pieces, exposing my bare chest and abdomen. His face lights up and he laughs wickedly, taunting me with his knife.

"Where to begin?" he asks himself. "So many choices?" He presses the blade to my shoulder. "Perhaps a quick stab here?" The knife climbs up to my forearm. "Or a long, drawn-out cut along here?"

"Devil!" the friar shouts at him. "You'll burn in hell for this!"

Prince John turns to him. "Meager price to pay," he replies, before concentrating on me. He looks as if a thought has occurred to him. "Ah, I see where we should start." The point of the blade touches in between both of my scapula, just below my Adam's apple. "A deep incision all the way down to the belly, a cut across the stomach, and we'll have ourselves a long, excruciating evisceration."

" _Rob_!" yells Little John. "NO! ROBIN!"

Prince John cackles devilishly. "Farewell, Robin Hood."

I close my eyes and brace myself for the agony to come. I brace myself for the end. I brace myself for the afterlife, for the ascension to heaven, to the streets of gold, the heavenly host…Father, protect me. Forgive me, for I have sinned.

Flashes of white and green envelop me; Prince John is knocked aside. What? What is happening? I fall to the ground. The rope has been severed from the tree, but my hands are still bound by it. Everything has become a blur; voices are nothing but fading echoes.

"Help me!" I manage to shout before everything turns to white. A racing sensation, pain, a sound persistent in my sensitive ears…

And everything goes dark.


	2. So Who's This Guy?

_And it is here, dear reader, that our story begins. Well, technically, it has already begun, since Robin Hood has been zapped through time. And yet, that happens in the future, because for now, we join Nicholas Wilde and Judy Hopps in their squad car five minutes prior to the events that have happened nearly nine hundred years in the past. But for Robin Hood, nine hundred years in the past is the present, and five minutes ago is in the very distant future for the wily outlaw, so...You know what? Just don't ask me to explain it. I'm just a narrator. They pay me to read things in a dramatic voice. I didn't get a degree in time theory from Harvard or whatever you need to deal with temporal events and-_

 _Let's just start the story, damn it, I'm getting bored and confused. It's like high school all over again._

 _ **Approximately Five Minutes Prior to the Events that Have Just Taken Place Nine Hundred Years in the Past and Will Occur Approximately Five Minutes From Now (aka 11:10:37 AM Monday, September 22, 2016)**_

"Carrots, let's just keep the romance out of the office, all right?" Nick asked as his love tried to kiss him.

"This is out of the office," Judy said sensually.

"You know what I mean, Judy. The chief's going to get pissed if he finds out about us. He's already angry at me for getting back at Wolford. Plus, if we do this, you know I'm gonna get the inside of the car all sticky and messy."

Judy wasn't letting up, even though he was putting every fiber of his being into resisting the lust building up inside him. "Come on, Nick," she teased him slyly. "You're telling me that you're not the least bit tempted to mix pleasure with work?"

Nick couldn't hide a nervous, embarrassed chuckle. "Uh...heh...Believe me, I'm more than tempted, Judy, but later. We can't be caught with our pants down on the job. What if we've got to pull someone over?"

Judy stopped, still staring at him seductively. Then, without warning, she took her paws off of his uniform and sat back in the passenger's seat, clearly disappointed.

"Fine," she said. "But it happens tonight. And if I'm not satisfied, I'm going to kick your tail."

Nick gave a laugh of relief; he had won, at least for a while. The moment passed, and he was able to focus on straightening out his uniform, which had been nearly ravaged by Judy's attempts to get Nick to give into his reproductive instincts. "Fair enough, Judy," he said. Now he just had to figure out to make sure he didn't get his tail kicked. He made a mental note to research the topic. Sometimes self-preservation isn't pretty, I guess, he thought. "So how's Officer Pasley doing? I saw you chatting with him earlier."

Judy smirked and gave a disapproving snort. "You're so bad at making light conversation, Nick," she said.

"Yeah, I know," he admitted. It was true; he wasn't one for talking. He'd much rather spend time with someone by doing something, not talking about something. "But, hey, we've got enough time to talky-talk while we're waiting for a call to come in or a speeder to go by us."

Judy folded her arms and looked at him in what seemed to be a bit of annoyance. "And we don't have time to -"

Now Nick was really laughing. "Because it takes hours to do so! We have time to talk because talking can instantly stop, but when you're getting it on, you can't really respond to a speeding vehicle very fast, can you?"

Judy rolled her eyes, silent. Nick knew she was taking it at least a tiny bit personally. He put two claws on the dashboard and extended his arm, the claws "walking" over to Judy's side of the car. He knew the bunny ears joke would cheer her up. "Uh oh," he said. "Here are these two bunny ears, and there's not an earless bunny in sight! Oh, no. What to do, what to do?"

Judy chuckled, and Nick's spirits perked up; it was working. She looked at him and laid her ears back behind her head, looking like she couldn't believe she was actually playing along with this. Nick fake-gasped and put a smile on his face that one might give to a child. "There we go! There's a no-eared bunny!" His paw jumped from the dash to the back of her head, where his two claws stuck up above the top of her skull, giving her a new set of "bunny ears;" he wiggled them independent of one another. "That's much better!"

Judy gave him a tap on the shoulder. "You're so bad, Nick," she said playfully.

He smiled. "I know I am." A sense of bonding between the two wrapped itself about his heart. Yeah, they were in love, all right. "So how _is_ the new temp doing, anyway? For real this time."

Judy sighed. "Well, he's been under a bit of pressure from the chief, what with the whole doughnut fiasco that happened last Thursday."

Nick remembered what she was talking about: apparently, the new temp, just as much of a food monger as Clawhauser was (but athletically gifted in contrast), had somehow managed to get a bunch of doughnuts stuck to the ceiling of the ZPD when the chief had shouted at him five feet from his ears. Nick didn't blame the buck; the chief was actually really frightening, even though Nick tried his best to put on his tough-guy, "don't let them know they get to you" facade. But as sorry as he felt for "Five-Point", the affectionate nickname he had thought up for the kid, Nick wished he could have seen the look on his face when the chief yelled at him. Five was far from deserving such a shock, but it was nice to have the chief's wrath focused on someone else for a change. "Yeah, I'd expect so. You know, I should get him some more doughnuts, just to spite the chief." He'd bought food for the other officers before, as a token of friendship, and it had been pretty effective; apparently, the chief wasn't as fond of caffeinated wheatgrass smoothies as he had originally thought. Oh, well. Nick was the office favorite, and he loved it.

Judy just shook her head. "Okay, then, Robin Hood."

"How do you mean?" Nick asked.

Judy gave him a look. "Come on," she said. "Giving to the needy free of charge, inconveniencing the privileged?"

Nick put his paws up in fake surrender. "Okay, fine, you got me." It was a favorite subject of his; he'd been told countless times by his mother that he was a descendant of the legendary outlaw, but he never really believed it. After all, he might have been an outlaw himself, but he was far from legendary. And besides, with his luck he was probably related to one of the peasants that was hanged for failing to pay their taxes. Which is why he always chose tax evasion over the alternative. Still, he couldn't help but draw attention to the fact that he might possibly be related to a greatly revered medieval hero whenever he could. "It's nice to labor under the delusion of being part of the family tree of a famous historical figure."

Judy shook her head again. "That's like saying I'm related to the Easter Bunny, Nick," she laughed, explaining with earnest. "It's impossible because the Easter Bunny doesn't exist, and as much as you probably don't like to hear it, Robin Hood's a tall tale. I hate to be the one who has to tell you, but he didn't exist."

Nick had heard people say this many times over before. "Please," he scoffed. "I used to think he was nothing but an idea, but then I started doing some research. Turns out they actually found fossilized evidence that Robin Hood actually _did_ walk the earth." Now he had Judy's attention, and he knew it, basking in her curiosity. " _That_ gotcha listening pretty quick, didn't it? Some archaeologist or some such animal ended up uncovering a scroll, of all things."

"What was written on it?" Judy asked of him; she was clearly intrigued.

Nick furrowed his brow. That was the _one_ thing he had forgotten. Getting wrapped up in the fact that Robin Hood might actually have existed had left him a believer beyond the shadow of a doubt; the unearthing of a scroll was all he had needed to hear. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Though if I had to guess, it was either a love letter to Maid Marian or a good-luck note to King Richard."

"Of course," Judy said derogatively. "Oh so convenient that it was addressed to one of the two most well-known characters in the story!"

Nick felt a little bit offended now. "Just because it's convenient doesn't mean that it doesn't offer-"

A sharp laser-sounding screech pierced his sensitive ears, and he yelped in pain, covering them quickly. Judy was talking now.

"Hey, what was that?" she asked.

Nick had more important things on his mind; he grabbed a pair of earplugs and shoved them in his ears. "I don't know, and I don't care! Why would we _want_ to know what it was, anyway?"

He watched Judy point to an alley on their right. "Not just the sound. There was a flash of aquamarine-teal stuff over there! We should probably check it out!"

"No, no, definitely not, Carrots." Even as Nick protested, Judy was getting out of the squad car. "I don't do eerie alien noises and green glowy light thingies!"

Judy rolled her eyes, leaning on the door frame. "Come on, scaredy fox. It's probably just an electrical malfunction or something."

Nick succumbed to her persuasion; he was tired of resisting after her attempts to get it on with him. Very reluctantly, he opened the driver's door, and stepped out onto the pavement. They looked for oncoming traffic, then crossed to the other side of the street. Nick was waiting for whatever might be behind the brick wall. As they rounded the corner, he was surprised to see...a fox?

A fox, and a tall one at that. He was dressed in nothing but a yellowish hat with a red feather in it, a heavily-ripped green shirt that just barely covered his shame, and a belt buckle around his hips. He looked to be in a state of near unconsciousness, and his words were completely unintelligible. He kept muttering about colors and blazing light and evisceration. Clearly, he was high as a kite. Nick turned to Judy.

"So what do we arrest him for first: substance abuse or public indecency?"

Judy shrugged at him. "Honestly, he looks like he needs a hospital more than anything."

"Ah, yes," Nick nodded. "One of the only ten-codes I memorized at the academy." He leaned towards his shoulder to call in the situation, but his sharp fox ears picked up a small noise of disapproval. In response, he looked to Judy, who was giving him a look. He took his paw off the radio.

"You didn't memorize all the ten-codes at the academy?" she asked him, folding her arms.

Nick scoffed. "Actually, I didn't memorize _any_ of the ten-codes at the academy," he explained. But after seeing the look on Judy's face, he decided to quickly add the second part of his sentence. "I memorized them in high school."

Judy's look changed from disapproval to shock. "In _high_ _school_?" she asked disbelievingly.

"What? Sometimes you get bored in calculus." Still secretly enjoying Judy's silent admiration, Nick grabbed the radio on his shoulder and leaned towards it once again. "This is Officer Wilde. We have a 10-52 in the Downtown District for an adult male fox who seems to have ingested a large amount of illegal substance. I repeat, we have a 10-52 in Downtown for a really messed-up junkie, over."

The radio crackled. _"10-4, Officer Wilde. Dispatching ambulance to your 20."_

Nick chuckled; Ben was always so excited about even the smallest things. "Ahh, classic Clawhauser," he said aloud. "Seeing him always puts me in a good mood."

Judy seemed confused. "Why?" she asked him slowly.

"Because he's never pessimistic about anything!" Nick explained. "I mean, even when he got moved downstairs, sure, he seemed down, but he kept saying, 'It'll get better eventually.' And even now, he's not even batting an eyelash about the whole doughnuts thing."

Judy nodded her head from side to side. "You've got a point," she told him.

"I know, Carrots," Nick replied; he didn't mean to be smug, so he kept a joking smile on his face. "That's why I said it." He took his cop sunglasses, flipped them open, and put them on slowly to convey a feeling of "coolness."

Judy gave him a look. "You're so unbelievable sometimes, you know that?"

" _Do_ I know that?" he replied slyly. "Yes. Yes, I do."

The sound of a siren reached his ear. He perked it up to get a better idea of where it was. "Backup incoming, about…" He guesstimated. "Two miles away."

Judy started trying to seduce him again. "You know, we've got some spare time -"

Nick was done. He didn't want to, and she knew it. Yet she kept trying. "NO, Carrots," he said forcefully. "Tonight. No earlier."

"Hmm," she sighed, still relentless in her attempts at fornication. "I think you're the kind of fox whose 'No' means 'Yes.'"

"Judy," Nick insisted. "Just because I don't want to have sex all the time doesn't mean I don't love you. You're the only one I could ever spend my life with, but…" He chose his words carefully; he knew that most took every word one said literally, so he wanted to make sure he didn't ruin things between himself and Judy. "Sometimes it's best to wait a bit before anything drastic happens in a relationship." He pulled her into a firm hug. "I love you, Judy. Don't you ever forget that, okay?"

He felt Judy nod; her chin bumped softly against his shoulder multiple times. "And I love you, Nick."

"Oooh-de-lally!"

A weak cry of jubilance hit Nick's ears. He broke off the hug and looked around, surprised to see the other fox, probably still in his acid trip, looking at them in joy.

"Young love," he said with a hint of dazed confusion in his voice. "It's always so beautiful."

Nick lowered one eyebrow and raised the other. "You okay there, buddy?"

The fox nodded. "I think so. Say, where am I?"

Oh boy, Nick thought. He's stoned, definitely. "Hey, pal, can you look at me in the eyes?"

The fox obeyed. But as he began to talk about the seemingly impossible, Nick detected no trace of "bloodshot bong-user" in his sclera.

"The last thing I remember was being tied to a tree branch, and then some greenish thing threw me into a tunnel of flashing blue colors and such." He looked around. "Did you bring me here?"

Then again, maybe you didn't have to have red eyes to be stoned.

"No," Nick said. "We didn't send you through any blue tunnels by putting you in a green something or other." The siren was getting closer. Thank God! The other fox heard them and cocked his head, giving a quizzical whimper. "What's that?" he asked.

"That's the ambulance," Judy butted in, who had apparently recovered from Nick's refusals. "They'll take you to the hospital and help you figure out what the...green thing was."

"Can't I just go back?" he asked the pair of cops.

Nick was struck dumb; back where? "What do you mean?"

"I mean, couldn't I just go back to Nottinghamshire?"

Nick's eyes widened. He thought he had heard "Nottinghamshire." Best to clarify. Nottingham wasn't even around anymore. "Sorry, what did you just say?"

The fox gave him a look. "I said, can I just get back to Nottinghamshire the same way I got here?"

"Yeah, just stick another hypodermic needle in your vein," Nick muttered to Judy.

"What?" The fox sounded as if he thought they actually knew the answer.

"We don't know," Judy told him.

The siren was extremely close now, and Nick saw the ambulance round the corner. The driver gave him a quick wave and stopped, presenting the incapacitated fox with his means of help.

"All right, buddy," Nick said as he helped his counterpart to his own two paws. "You're going to get in the back of this ambulance, and it will take you to get some help."

"Okay," the fox replied simply as the back door opened and the EMTs carefully pulled him into the back of the vehicle. "Will I see you and your lover again?"

Nick hoped that no one could see him blushing right now. "We'll come by, sure." The doors closed as he walked to the driver's window and gestures for him to roll down the glass pane.

"What's up?" the lynx asked him.

Nick cast a glance at the back of the ambulance. "Do a blood test on that guy. He's really tripping, and I'd be surprised if there's a drug he _doesn't_ have in his system."

The lynx nodded. "So it's _that_ kind of emergency response call."

"Yeah, no kidding," Nick agreed. He gave the ambulance a few pats and threw out his arm, indicating the road ahead of him. "Onward we go, huh?"

The lynx shifted gears, and as he got up to speed, Nick heard him say, "When will they learn?"

Nick watched him go. He felt Judy put her paw on his shoulder.

"Look, Nick," she started. "I'm sorry about this whole thing. I know I've been really persistent after you've asked me to stop multiple times, and -"

Nick held up his paw; he heard her fall silent.

"Carrots…" He gave a small sigh. "It's not like I don't have a huge crush on you. I...I'm just not ready to take on that responsibility yet. My, uh…" He tried to stop himself from choking up as he kept going. It had always been a hard topic to talk about. He licked his lips nervously. He wasn't going to cry, not now. "I didn't really get a good father figure for most of my childhood. And -" He couldn't help but give a watery, bitter chuckle. "H-how am I supposed to do something the 'right way' if I have no idea what the 'right way' looks like?"

Judy made no sound; she only wrapped her arms around him and brought herself closer to him.

"Nick…" she began. "If you can fake being a dad, I doubt you'd have a hard time being one."

Nick needed to cheer himself up. But what? Oh yeah. That fox he had just put in an ambulance. "So, Carrots," he said, sniffling away his sadness and turning to face her, "How much do you want to bet that his blood tests come back with more than one positive?"

Judy laughed. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "Depends on what he mixed."

NIck held up his paw. "Heroin -" - He held up one claw - "-and...probably coke. Smokable edition."

Judy looked up at her forehead. "Yeah, I could see that happening."

Nick raised his eyebrow. "Really? Because the only thing I thought you could see happening was us...well, you know."

Judy scoffed. "Look, just because I want a bit excitement in my life doesn't mean that's all I want to do."

Nick chuckled. "I know, Carrots. I know. It was a joke."

"So shall we head back to the station, then?" she asked.

Nick smiled approvingly. "Yes, we shall, Carrots. Yes, we shall." He began on the path back to the driver's seat, but he had barely taken even five steps before he felt a paw slapped against his rear. He jumped in surprise and turned around to see Judy smirking.

"Hey!" he protested.

Judy chuckled seductively. "Just practicing for tonight, fox boy."


	3. How Do I Get Out of It?

Nick paused his playlist as he pulled up to the ZPD. For whatever reason, the chief hated his music, even though he faltered when Nick asked him what he himself listened to. Although if Clawhauser was to be believed, the buffalo seemed to take a liking to Gazelle. Honestly, Nick could never see himself listening to something like that. For the first few years of his life, he had gotten used to the wailing guitar of his father's old school rock tracks. Truth be told, Nick loved rock. It was the only genre that had kept him sane all these years. His "natural high," he called it. It was such a lovely way to express oneself. He took his key out of the ignition, swigged one last gung-ho mouthful of his energy drink (for he found that the chief had an love of energy drinks equal to that of his love for rock music), and grabbed his badge. But he stopped in his tracks for what was at first no reason, leaving his door halfway open. He looked at the badge, and underneath it, his name: Nicholas P. Wilde. He chuckled. Five years ago, he feared this badge. Now...now he embraced it, stood for it, protected it, and defended the citizens who needed refuge from those who wished to destroy it. The world worked in mysterious ways, all right. Nick shook his head and chuckled in irony, preparing himself for what would come next. As he closed the door, he heard Wolford's British accent coming closer.

"Hey, rookie," Wolford greeted him. Nick snorted; was Wolford _still_ calling him "rookie?"

"And the past year and a half of service doesn't get me out of 'rookie' status because...?"

Wolford shook his head, chuckling. "In my head, you're always gonna be that shiny in basic that I had the pleasure of bossing around." He extended his hand. "Doesn't mean we can't put that behind us, right?"

Nick accepted the handshake. "No kidding. In _my_ head, you're always gonna be that English mutt who got himself in a ten-car pileup and me chase his tail all over Zootopia."

Wolford chuckled again. "Nice sense of humor, Wilde. Really sensitive side you got going there."

Nick gave him a joking punch on the shoulder. "You know I'm messing with you, Wolford. God...I'm glad _that_ whole fiasco's over." Nick felt his face fall; he had a habit of bringing up subject matter that eventually made him feel unhappy. Now that case was all he could think about. Change the topic, Nick, he told himself. Don't screw yourself over.

"Say, what are you doing here anyway?" Wolford asked him. "Your shift's over. Shouldn't you be back at home, relaxing and eating something?"

Nick was caught off guard; truthfully, he had come back to say goodbye to Judy, but he didn't want Wolford to realize that they were going to be seeing each other that night. The problem was, what was his cover going to be? "Did you see that guy we brought in, the one with no pants?" he said, finally thinking of a story.

Wolford rolled his eyes in exhaustion. " _Oh_ , yeah, I remember that wanker," he said, looking back at Nick. "What was wrong with him?"

Nick shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Wolford," he replied as they walked into the department. "I swear to God, I've never seen someone so immersed in a pen before." There was no immediate response, so Nick looked over at Wolford, who seemed very confused. "He found it on the backseat. I watched him screw around with it. His eyes were bulging out in amazement, he sniffed it curiously and inspected it from every angle, so on and so forth. But the reason I'm here is to check in on him... _and_ look at his blood tests. I made a bet with Judy that he was going to have multiple drugs in his system."

"Yeah? What was the wager?"

"Wilde, Wolford," Officer Francine's voice came from the right, giving Nick a much-needed distraction. He glanced to see the elephant approaching them with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Officer Francine," he acknowledged her. "How's it going?"

"Ah, it's just another day on the job," she replied cheerfully. Then she made a face that seemed as if she had just remembered something. "Say, don't you get off of work at 5:30?"

Nick wasn't sure where she was going with this. "Yeah, why?"

Francine waved her arm dismissively. "Oh, I just remember overhearing you telling Officer McHorn one day that you go home at 5:30."

Nick heard Wolford whistle. "Wow, that's an impressive memory."

Francine seemed bashful. "Oh, it's nothing, really."

"Hey, Francine," Nick asked her.

"Yes, Nick?" Officer Francine goaded.

"That fox we brought in from the streets, do you have any idea where he is?"

Francine nodded. "Interrogation room 3," she replied, pointing her trunk to the hallway that led to Nick's desired destination. Nick began to make his way to the interrogation rooms, thanking Francine as he did so. Wolford kept with him.

"So, what are you planning to do, exactly?" he asked as they walked down the hall.

Great, more questions. Questions that Nick didn't have an answer for. "Uhhh…" How was he going to get through this without actually lying? "Well...He _did_ as if he could go back to 'Nottinghamshire,' wherever that is."

A sound of disapproval came from Wolford's snout. "You don't know where Nottingham is?" he asked with an amused smile.

" _Was_ ," Nick corrected. "It was in ye olde England, circa late 1100s AD. If memory serves, King Richard was off on a crusade and his kid brother was temporarily put in charge of his position."

"Well, look who knows his history," Wolford said. "Yeah, that's Nottingham. But...if he thinks he's from Nottingham…Bloody hell." He met Nick's eyes with a puzzled look on his face. "Are you _sure_ he didn't mix heroin with LSD?"

Nick shook his head. "Not sure. It's highly likely, but I'm not sure." He opened the door to the viewing area for interrogation room 3. "That's what I'm here to find out." With that, he walked into the room and watched as his chief, who was almost always angry, looking intensely at the strange fox, apparently trying to kill the poor mammal with only his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he began to speak.

" _So you have no idea how you got here, no idea where you are, and no identification?"_

The fox cocked his head curiously. " _Identification?"_

Wolford chuckled. "It's like a kid lying after he gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar."

Nick gave a snort of amusement. "I'm surprised the chief is still trying to have an intelligent conversation with this guy. There's no way he can try and get a straight answer out of him."

" _Yes, identification,"_ the chief said, pronouncing each syllable with dangerous calm. " _As in that little card you carry around that tells us who you are?"_

"What's a…'card'?" The fox said it as if it were part of a foreign language.

The chief groaned in irritation.

" _Look, tell me who you are, where you're from, why you were lying in an alleyway, and how you got the nerve to publicly wear tattered clothing that's much more than revealing!"_

" _I don't know!"_ the fox protested earnestly. " _All I remember is a flash of green light, and suddenly I'm here."_ He put his muzzle in his paws and shook his head. " _I just want to go back to Nottingham. Please,"_ he said through his paws.

" _Look at these blood tests for me, fox,"_ Bogo commanded, putting them on the table. " _Nothing - and I mean_ nothing _\- was found in your system!_ Nothing!"

Nick froze. Nothing?

" _You weren't under the influence of drugs. So how could you think that Nottingham is still standing? It's been gone for centuries! It's a bloody legend now!"_

The fox looked up, crestfallen. " _Wh-what?"_ he asked disbelievingly.

" _You heard me!"_ Bogo had finally lost it. He slammed his hooves on the desk and leaned closer to the fox's face with each word. " _There…is...no...Nottingham!"_

The fox's spirit was clearly broken. He met Bogo's furious gaze with one of despair. " _No. No, it can't be,"_ he said, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. " _I was just there-"_

" _No, you weren't!"_ Bogo told him fiercely. " _You've always been here!"_

The fox looked to the one-way glass through which Nick was looking, then to the other side of the room, then resumed hiding his face in his hands. But this time, Nick could hear him crying. A surge of sympathy hit him mercilessly. Poor guy...he really thought he had been in Nottingham. He had to do something. Without warning Wolford, he threw open the door to the viewing room and walked into the interrogation room. Bogo looked infuriated; the fox looked up, looking the slightest bit more hopeful to see that one of his own kind was with him.

"I remember you," he said, his British accent making for a very surreal scene.

"Hey, buddy," Nick replied, waving a friendly paw.

"Wilde." The chief glared at Nick, speaking angrily through his teeth. "What...are...you...doing...here?"

Nick strolled over to the table at which the chief and the fox were sitting. "Well, Chief, I figure that if this guy actually _is_ from Nottingham, we should give him a chance to prove it."

The chief chuckled, apparently amused by the suggestion. "And how do you propose we do that?" he asked loftily.

"Well, I mean, we have a lie detector, right?" Nick replied. "So-"

"Ooooh, no, Wilde," the chief held up a hoof in protest. "We're not pulling out sophisticated equipment to test a junkie's fairy tale!"

"Jun-kie?" The fox said it awkwardly; like "card," he had clearly never heard "junkie" before. Either that, or he was really, _really_ good at faking it. But Nick, who knew how to separate actors for the real deal, had a gut feeling that this fox was telling the truth. Nick, very confident (perhaps overly so) in his gut feeling about this fox, turned to the chief.

"I don't think he's acting this one out, chief," he told Bogo.

The buffalo's skepticism wasn't budging. "Well, he's not going to tell us if he's acting, is he?"

"Which is _exactly_ why we need the lie detector," Nick replied, finally catching the towering animal in his logical trap.

Bogo looked infuriated. "Fine," he said shortly in a voice of that ever-present deadly calm. "We'll get the detector out. But if he's actually this clueless, you get his case."

"Sure," Nick said. He turned to the fox. "All right, buddy. Here's your chance. Prove you're really from Nottingham, and everything will be perfectly fine."

The fox nodded. "Okay," he said hopefully.

Nick looked at the glass, assuming he was looking right at Wolford. "Hey, Wolford, get the lie detector, would you?"

A few seconds of silence ensued (well, "silence;" Bogo was snorting in an attempt to keep his anger to a minimum). Then in came Wolford, holding a paw-sized device with a few buttons on it and two cords. At the end of each cord protruded a Velcro-like fabric that latched on to the subject's fingers. On his other paw, he held a computer. Wolford placed both of these objects on the table and began setting up the whole, plugging the device into the computer and unstrapping the two finger holders.

"Okay, I'm going to put these on your fingers," he said as he brought the fox's had to the wire. "They won't hurt you, they're just going to help me determine whether you're telling the truth or not."

The fox looked apprehensive. "Is it witchcraft?" he asked nervously.

Wolford chuckled. "Oh, no, nothing like that," he said. "No, it's just...a holy purification stick."

The fox relaxed. "Oh," he replied. "Okay."

Nick stifled a snicker. _That_ was an on-the-spot answer if ever he heard one.

With that, Wolford was able to attach him to the lie detector with no problems. He sat down at the computer, and Nick followed; after all, why waste the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of seeing a stoner try and fake his way out of prison time?

"We'll start this off with a nice, easy question," Wolford explained. "Sir, please state your full legal name."

The fox took a breath. "Robin of Locksley."

Nick didn't see anything remotely different happening on the detector. He glanced at the chief, giving him a confused look. But as he did, he was surprised to see that the chief himself was a little nervous-looking.

"Keep going," he said, watching the detector in a worrisome manner. Nick turned back. So the fox _had_ told the truth. His name was really Robin of Locksley? Wow. His parents must have hated him to give him that kind of name in this day and age.

"Second question," Wolford asked. "State your date of birth and birthplace."

"I was born at Locksley Manor in Nottinghamshire in the year of our Lord 1173."

The graph was still as unaffected as ever; save a few twitches here and there, the digital needles weren't moving much at all. Nick could hardly believe it. He was right? But...but that was just a _guess_! This guy really _was_ Robin of Locksley from nine centuries ago? Maybe he was just really good at fooling a lie detector.

"Uhh, okay, Robin," said Wolford uneasily; clearly, he too couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Do you know where you are?"

Robin looked around. "No," he finally admitted. "No, I don't."

Still no movement! Nick was starting to get freaked out.

"Are you aware of the current drug crisis and/or have you partaken in the use of illegal drugs?"

"Opium, you mean?" came Robin's response.

Wolford shook his head. "No, no, no. I mean methamphetamines, cocaine, heroin, marijuana...that stuff."

"No, none of those things," Robin replied, giving him a confused look. "And no opium, either."

No remarkable movement. Nick slapped himself across the face to try and wake up, then realized that no one else knew what he was thinking; he just looked like a madman beating himself up. "Sorry," he apologized hastily.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" the chief asked him incredulously.

"Making sure this isn't a dream?" Nick said, slowly and uncertainly.

The chief sighed wearily and turned to Wolford. "Any other questions you want him to answer?"

Wolford had started packing up the equipment. "Nope," he said, shrugging. "That's it."

"Good, then you can leave now," the chief replied, irate. He looked at Nick. "You too, Wilde."

"Wait, Chief," Wolford said. "Where is he going to live?"

"We'll put him in one of our...apartment complexes until we can find a good home for him," the chief replied.

"Ap...art...mint?" Robin had just learned a new word.

"The boys in blue can go now," the chief ignored his captive.

Nick took the hint; letting Wolford in front of him, he exited the room. A sliver of his being nagged at him, told him to go back and stay with Robin; they were both of the same species, after all. But self-preservation took precedence over unity. Better to let the chief talk to him than to stick his snout where it didn't belong. Nick instead followed Wolford back into the viewing room.

"Ho...ly...hell," Wolford said the minute the door closed, putting everything back. "He's _actually_ from nine hundred years ago."

Nick shook his head; it wasn't right. It couldn't be. "Are you sure you had that thing hooked up properly?"

Wolford gave him a look of annoyance. "No, Nick, I've only practiced setting up and breaking down this _exact_ polygraph about a million times."

Nick was surprised. "You practice setting up polygraphs?"

Wolford chuckled. "After your tenth overtime, you'll get bored enough to start doing even the most menial tasks time and time again. I once spent forty-five minutes taking apart my piece and putting it back together." He furrowed his brow. "Think I got something like forty-two-point-seven seconds or something like that." He turned around to go back out to the ZPD. "Blocking the doorway there, Nicky."

Nick moved to the side, folding his arms. "Don't call me that," he said.

"Hey, Wilde!"

Nick froze, wincing. He had heard that voice too many times to enjoy it. He opened his eyes to see his old drill instructor on a collision course with him, holding a folder loosely with one paw.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said.

The polar bear smiled a toothy smile. "Still sore from that fitness test?"

Nick groaned. "I still don't see why I had to run two miles farther than everyone else."

"Well, if I could say only one thing about that, it would be to always go the extra mile...or two. Besides," the instructor added, "it's not my fault. Your bunny pal made you. I remember her running the entire thing with you. You're lucky to have such a close friend."

Nick scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You don't even know the half of it."

The instructor raised her eyebrows. "I don't _want_ to know the half of it. Anyway, the chief told me to let you look at the results of that fox's blood test, the guy you brought in?"

"Yeah," Nick said. Thank God. His cover story was even more reinforced. He didn't even care that the chief wanted him to know what drugs the fox had used.

"Nick, what are you doing here?"

Great. Here came Judy, and there went his cover story.

His mate joined in, forming a square of conversation. "What's going on, Officers?" she addressed the group.

The instructor's face lit up. "Well, speak of the cotton-tailed devil! We were just talking about how you stuck with Wilde throughout his fitness exam."

"Yeah, that was nothing," Judy said. "Just friends looking out for friends."

"Just how it ought to be, that's right," the instructor said. "Ain't no leavin' friends behind." She turned back to Nick.

"So that guy's blood test...it came back clean."

"Yeah, the chief told us - well, inadvertently told us," Nick informed her.

"Bloody amazing," Wolford chimed in.

"Not a single trace of an illegal drug in his body." The instructor looked down at the folder. "Heck, he don't even got any sugar or chocolate in his system - oh, yeah. That's right," she stopped herself. "I just forgot. Foxes. Chocolate. Death. Right. Anyway, no additives, preservatives, smoking byproducts…" She closed the folder and looked up at him, clearly very surprised. "I mean, I've heard of someone being 'clean of drugs,' but this is _actually_ clean of anything non-natural."

"So why does the chief want _me_ to know whether or not he was stoned?" Nick asked.

"Well, you _are_ the one who found him in the street, right?" the instructor replied.

"Me and Officer Hopps here," Nick corrected. "I'm not going to take full credit for it."

"Like a true friend, huh? Damn straight. Anyway, chief's rules. You find a case, you solve it. Of course, that's after all of the briefing and strategy and all that boring stuff. Guess you get to figure out exactly what's goin' on with this dude."

"About that," Wolford asked. "Are you feeling a bit helpful?"

The instructor looked at him, apparently the slightest bit offended. "I ain't got time for that! Man, I'm workin' hard enough on my own. Plus, I gotta get home and spend time with my kids, and I'm sure you can appreciate that, what with havin' a boy of your own an' all."

Nick's first instinct was to look at Judy; she always jumped at the chance to nag him about having kids. This time, though, she remained quiet, and he assumed this was due to the odd nature of their relationship; apparently, she was just as open about their bond as he was.

"So, this guy…" she started. "What's new about him?"

Nick took it upon himself to explain. "Yeah...turns out he's actually Robin Hood. Y'know, the one that lived 900 years ago?"

Her reaction was priceless; as Judy's mouth dropped slightly, and her yes widened, Nick couldn't suppress a smirk. "You heard me right. He's Robin Hood. Like _the_ Robin Hood."

"Seriously?" she asked him.

"Everything fits," Nick replied.

"What do you mean, everything?" Judy said. "What's everything?"

"Lie detector," Wolford chimed in. "Drug test. Pretty much whatever we threw at him, it confirmed his existence during a time approximately nine centuries ago. Even his history information was accurate."

"So...wait," Judy protested, holding her hand up. "If he's really Robin Hood, then how did he get here in the first place?"

"Good question," Nick said. In all honesty, he hadn't thought about it and as of yet had no answer. "It probably has something to do with that green flash you saw before we found him."

"Time travel," the instructor said quietly.

"What?" Nick asked, turning to her.

"Well, my kid's into all that sci-fi mumbo jumbo, and I seen enough of his movies to know that time travel usually got sump'n'a d with flashes of weird light stuff. Just sayin', couldn't it be a possibility?"

Wolford appeared to be musing. "Bloody hell, you might be right. It's definitely a possibility."

"But -" Judy sputtered. "But how could he have gotten here by -" She looked around and lowered her voice to avoid attention. "How could he have gotten here by time travel?"

"World's a funny place," the instructor said. "Remember that psycho Bellwether?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, his face falling. Bellwether. He flashed back to their encounter in the natural history museum. She had really wanted him to kill Judy, to take the life of the only one he had ever loved. He prayed that he would never have to experience the real thing. From the few times he had consumed something that manipulated him, he knew that the last thing he wanted was to have no control over his own body. He could never do that again. Not to himself. Not to Zootopia and its citizens. Not to Judy…

"Wilde, you all right?" Wolford's voice asked from afar.

Nick was brought back to earth; he shook his head and replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just an unpleasant reminiscence."

"Oooh, big words," the instructor replied. "What were you thinking about?"

Nick hesitated. "The night howler case."

"Ah." The instructor addressed the group. "So what are other theories?"

Judy scratched her head. "Hardcore LARPer?"

Nick gave her a look that, he hoped, conveyed his immense amount of concern. "Bless you?" he asked uncertainly.

She rolled her eyes in response. "Ha, ha, Nick. I said hardcore LARPer. LARPing is an acronym for 'Live-Action Role Playing.'"

Nick changed the attitude his look from concerned to curious. "And...you know this how?"

"Gideon Grey used to do it. You remember him. When we were looking for this poor sod and his partner, McHorn?" Nick referenced Wolford with a jerk of the head in his direction.

"You're not gonna let me hear the end of that, are you, rookie?"

Nick chuckled; he was expecting Wolford to call him "wanker." In response, he threw his arms up and gave a cocky smile. "Whenever you want to stop calling me rookie, that's when I throw in the towel."

"Wait, you two," Judy said, as if a thought had just occurred to her. "We've still got the small matter of Robin Hood to attend to."

"What about him, Hopps?" asked the instructor.

"We can't keep him here."

Wolford cocked his head. "Why not?"

The instructor gave him an unamused look. "You kidding me."

"See, Wolford," Judy explained. "He hasn't exactly done anything illegal."

"Public indecency," Wolford replied, shrugging. "He was wearing a shirt, a belt, shoes, and that yellow, feathered cap. Didn't see any pants."

"Those _were_ pants," Nick corrected him. "Well...super-short shorts. It wasn't just a shirt, the belt was actually necessary."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wolford said. "You're telling me that that belt, if he took it off, would reveal a pair of short shorts and a separate shirt?"

"Yeah."

Wolford shook his head and gave a smile of disbelief. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"Well, acknowledging the proverbial elephant in the room, what do we do with him?"

Nick got an idea. "I have a solution, but I doubt you'll like it."

"Let's hear it, Wilde," the instructor replied with her no-nonsense attitude.

"I feel like since he's a fox, he'd be better off with his own kind. Especially in a place where predators are discriminated against. At least until he grows accustomed to modern-day society."

"Nick…" Judy started suspiciously. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If what you think I'm saying is that I take him under my wing and let him live in my own home, then yes."

"Wilde, are you _sure_ that's a good idea?" Wolford sounded very concerned.

"He can't stay here, but he can't go home. Just makes sense for a fox to live with a fox...non-romantically, of course."

The drill instructor made a face of disgust. "Just _had_ to go there, didn't you, Wilde?"

"Sorry. Have to assume everyone else goes to the wrong place when I say stuff like that."

"And you're sure Robin isn't going to the wrong place if you take him in?"

Nick turned to Judy. "Trust me. Foxes are much more productive when they're among their own. Maybe you're forgetting the nice little hustle I had going with Finnick, before I joined the right side of the war on crime."

"Glad you did," the instructor said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go finish up recruit training for the day. Left 'em at the shootin' range. Let's go see how many of them blew their own appendages off." She turned and started walking, but cast a last glance at Nick. "Oh, and Wilde, if you end up playing fox whisperer, make sure he's up to speed on appropriate attire by tomorrow."

"Encourage public nudity, got it," Nick replied jokingly, throwing a thumbs-up at her.

The instructor shook her head and laughed. "Catcha later."

"Actually, I should probably go, too," Judy said. "There's work on a case that needs to be done. Your old friend Duke Weaselton has started using food chains for transport and distribution of illegal drugs."

"What kind?" Nick asked. "Just outta curiosity."

"We don't know. All we have to go on is that the drugs are there and Weaselton's involved." Judy, instead of walking back the way she came from, slowly strolled behind Nick. "Got to go, guys," she said. Then, to Nick's surprise, she lowered her voice. "See you later tonight, fox boy."

Nick was going to say something, but then he felt Judy's paw plant itself firmly on his rear, slapping him rather audibly. He yipped in surprise and followed her with his eyes as she gave him a seductive look, walking around Wolford as well (who remained safe from her rear-smacking) while she walked back. As soon as she was out of earshot, Wolford gave Nick a wide, toothy smile, his entire face crying disbelief.

"No bloody way," he said. "You and Hopps?"

Nick nodded silently, still recovering from Judy's physical contact.

"How?"

"Opposites attract, I guess. Honestly, I have no idea. I think that once you've been through three or more near-death experiences with someone, you can't help but develop feelings for them. In our case, it's escalated." Nick got an idea. "Wolford, you have to help me."

"What do you need help with?" Wolford asked.

"Did you hear what she whispered in my ear?"

"'See you tonight, fox boy.' Yeah, I heard it."

Nick lowered his voice. "She wants to…" He nodded, trying to get Wolford to understand. "You know."

Wolford's eyes widened. "Ah. So, what? You want to know how to make it even better for her?"

"No, I want to know how to get out of it!" Nick whispered urgently. "She'll be my first, and I have no intention of losing my virginity anytime soon!"

Wolford suddenly became much more grim-looking. "Trust me, Wilde," he said quietly. "You don't want to do that."

"What?!" Nick asked him. "Why not?!"

Wolford inhaled through his teeth. "You love Judy, right?"

Nick wasn't following. "Of course I do."

"Do you want that love to last forever?"

"What the hell kind of questions are these? _Yes_ , I want our love to last forever."

"Okay, how many times had she tried to charm you into cunning linguistics?"

Nick wrinkled his nose. "That's disgusting."

"You know what I mean."

"She's asked me a few times," he answered uncertainly. "I said no each time."

"How many times is a few?"

Nick hesitated; he had stopped counting after four. "Probably five or six."

Wolford whistled. "Then you are even more screwed than I thought."

 _Oh, boy._ Nick was now much more afraid. "W-what do you mean?"

"You remember when we were in middle school, and the teacher played that 'Just Say No' video about drugs?"

"Yeah, I do. And I've tried 'just saying no' about a thousand times, and look where it's got me!" Nick was struggling to keep his voice down due to the foreboding feeling he had in his stomach.

"Exactly, Wilde. You can only say 'No' to a woman so many times. Looks like you're in for a very eventful night. Although, if I were you…" He beckoned for Nick to come closer, to which Nick replied by leaning an ear towards the wolf.

"I'd get a condo."

Nick was confused. "What? No way!" he hissed back. "Why would I want to get a condo? I have a house, we'll just put Robin in the guest room and then get it over with!"

"Not that kind of condo."

And then it hit him. "Oh...I gotcha. But where would I find them?"

"Try the Mystic Springs Oasis," Wolford suggested. "I've heard they have products that are...specifically made for this kind of activity."

Nick chuckled sarcastically. "Maybe I'll find her a birthday present."

"Well, it's not my position to judge, but based on what you've told me, it'd probably keep her busy so she wouldn't be constantly asking you to join in whenever she's in that particular mood."

"I don't know," Nick replied. "That was more of a joke than anything, but…" He sighed and shook his head. "I dunno. I'm just gonna go get Robin, make a quick stop, and then come straight home."

"Sure you don't want to stop before you take Robin home?" Wolford asked. "He'd probably try and eat 'em or something."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Rather not waste the gas."

"Well, look who's going green."

Nick snorted and looked at Wolford. "Funny," he said shortly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a time-traveling thief to look after." He turned back around to go to the jail cells, and actually made it a fair way to his destination before he was again interrupted. He was minding his own business, when suddenly-

"Wilde!"

The instructor was back, and out of nowhere, she appeared at his side. Nick jumped away from her slightly, startled by her unexpected presence.

"What's up?" he asked uncertainly.

"There's something about Robin's blood tests that I thought you might want to know, but I withheld it from the others just in case," she replied.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Well, you know how easy it is for crime labs to turn up evidence they weren't originally looking for, and that's what happened with you boy Robin."

"So what did they find?"

"The two'aya are related. He's your ancestor."

Nick couldn't believe it. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. Blood test's definitive. Turns out he's a really old Wilde."

After all this time, he had been right! He actually _was_ related to Robin Hood! Nick couldn't suppress his smile. "That's...that's amazing! I always knew I had some connection to him! Although…" Nick realized that Robin might find it odd if someone he had never seen before suddenly walked up to him and said, "Hey, I'm your great-great-great-great-great grandson."

"Although what?" the instructor asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I probably shouldn't mention it to him until he's gotten a little more used to 21st-century life. I'm curious to see what he does when he sees the TV. At any rate, I'll tell him about it when we've gotten to know each other more."

"All right, Wilde," the instructor said. "I'm not gonna tell you how to do this kinda stuff."

"Thanks for telling me all this," Nick replied. "All righty then, gotta go and give Robin a get out of jail free card."

"See ya." And with that, his old instructor went off to do whatever it is she had to do. Nick turned around as well, and made his way to set his relative free.


	4. Girls Go Crazy for a Sharp-Dressed Fox

Nick approached Robin's prison cell with butterflies in his stomach. This was his chance to meet his childhood hero, no, his lifetime hero. Opportunities like this never came across an animal's path; an animal was lucky even to meet someone who knew their hero. But he, Nicholas Wilde, had the possibility to live with a fox who should have died nine hundred or so years ago, a relative from the distant, distant past. It was mind-blowing, and come to think of it, awesome. He felt like he was a movie star in some kind of space-alien mystery blockbuster. He watched Robin as he advanced towards the outlaw's cell. Robin's ears perked up, probably noticing Nick's footsteps, and looked at him. Nick could barely contain himself. _This is so freaking amazing._

"Remember me?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," Robin replied, standing up and grabbing hold of the bars. "Am I in a dungeon?"

 _Aw, crap, I forgot he was locked up. Dumbass._ Nick should have known that Robin didn't trust jail cells. "No, you're not," he sighed apologetically. "We just haven't had a place for you to live in...until now."

"Really?" Robin said, looking much more hopeful. "Ooh-de-lally!"

 _What?_ "Uhh...yeah," Nick replied, not entirely sure what had just happened. "Anyway, I'll take you to my home and help you get accustomed to your new environment."

Robin's face fell just as quickly as it had risen. "Wh-what do you mean? I can't go back to Nottingham?"

"Right now, it doesn't look very feasible. That being said, I'm sure there's a way," he added quickly, since he didn't want their relationship to get off on the wrong paw. This was his one chance to talk with history. It'd be better if he didn't screw it up.

"Really?" Robin perked up again. "When can I go back?"

Nick inhaled through his teeth. "Not entirely sure, Robin. This kind of thing is new to us as well. When you first showed up, we had no idea _what_ to think. So suddenly, we've got a fox on our hands whose clothing is destroyed, speaks old-timey English, and appears to have been time-warped into the future by a millennium or so. Well, now, what do we do? Such an odd problem, after all. As far as we know, there's no current means of time travel...unless, of course, the conspiracy theorists are to be believed, at which point we'll all be wearing tinfoil hats because the government's trying to screw our brain cells over. But that's about as likely as a robot takeover of Zootopia, so…"

"Ro-bot?" Robin was again exposed to a new word.

"Yeah. It's a...how do I explain it?" Nick was finding it hard to think of a suitable description. "Imagine a moving statue made of metal."

Robin's eyes widened in concern. "Ah. That _would_ be unfortunate."

"Yeah, but it's never going to happen," Nick replied. "Now, we've just got to get you out of here." He looked to the opposite side of the hall and called out, "Delgato!"

A lion in a uniform leaned his head to get a glimpse of who was yelling at him. When he realized it was Nick, he understood. "Right!" he called back. Nick gave Robin a warning; the cell was about to open, and the fox had his paws right on the prison bars.

"You might wanna step back for this, Robin."

"Okay," Robin said hesitantly, stepping back. "But why?"

His question was answered; slowly, the bars slid to the side and provided Robin with an escape route. Nick watched him react. It was quite a sight to see: the outlaw's eyes widened in both amazement and precaution, making sure he wasn't going to be attacked by the seemingly animate wall. Then, as the bars settled into the side of the wall, he relaxed.

"What was that?" Robin asked.

"Mechanics," Nick explained. "There's a chain that pulls the bars to the side when we want to let someone go. Come on, let's get you somewhere nice to rest." As he moved to help Robin out of the cell, the fox began asking questions.

"Doesn't the chain get tired?"

Nick chuckled. "No, no. The chain is connected to a system. Basically, there's a wheel that cranks when we want it to, the wheel turns the chain, and the chain opens the door."

"Fascinating," Robin said as they walked out of the cell block together. "How does it close?"

"It does the same thing, but in reverse."

"What?" Robin looked afraid. "That's witchcraft!"

"No, it's not, Robin," Nick laughed. "Don't get freaked out. Remember: you're in the future. Everything you see is witchcraft-free. Trust me."

Robin seemed hesitant to trust him, but soon caved in. "Okay. I trust you."

Nick smiled; their relationship was getting off to a very good start. "Great! Now, since you don't have a home, I'm going to provide you with food and shelter until you can figure this world out."

Robin cocked his head. "Why is that?"

"Because this world is unforgiving." Nick gave Robin a serious look. "Especially for foxes."

"Why?"

Robin was starting to sound like a little kid; always with the "why?"s. "Other animals...prey...don't trust us. Don't trust predators, I mean. Think we're still following the whole 'primal instinct' thing. You know...hunt, kill, eat."

Robin scoffed. "Not even predators in Nottingham hunt. What makes them think today's predators are any different?"

"I don't know, honestly," Nick sighed. "One accidental attack and everyone goes berserk. 'Oh, they're still trying to kill prey! They'll tear us all apart! We have to protect ourselves!' That's why most prey have guns, 'cause they're scared that predators and prey alike will one day be equal."

"Gun?"

Nick had forgotten that Robin had a very, _very_ limited knowledge of what was what in the future. Technically, the present, but to Robin it was all foreign nonetheless. "That's right, you don't have those yet. Don't worry, I won't spoil the surprise."

"All...right," Robin said uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure what to expect. In truth, Nick was a little apprehensive about introducing Robin to such an efficient killing machine. He'd leave that for a later lesson. Right now, all that mattered was the essentials of living in today's society. "Okay, rule number one of modern life: predator and prey are equals. No eating other animals." He looked over to see Robin agree with a wrinkled snout.

"That's absolutely disgusting," he replied.

"I'm glad you agree," Nick said. "That'll make it easier for you to fit in. Rule number two." He pointed to Robin's clothes. "Short shorts only look good on females. And a ripped-up T-shirt isn't doing you any justice whatsoever."

Robin seemed a bit offended. "This is a tunic. And it _was_ in one piece...before John tried to kill me."

"Well, tunics are out, shirts and jeans and other assorted things are in. So when we get to my place, I'll let you have a few things."

"Thank you," Robin replied. "So…" He looked around. "Why are all of these animals wearing blue? Is it a cult?"

Nick couldn't hold it in; he laughed earnestly. "Oh, Rob," he guffawed. "No, not at all. We're policemen. Kind of like castle guards, just…not the sort that would work for Prince John. We're _always_ the good guys: fight crime, protect the innocent. Work for world peace."

Robin scoffed. "Good luck with that. If your king is anything like Prince John, you'll have a very hard time trying."

"Actually, we have a lot of different leaders. They meet with each other and decide on laws that are fair for everyone." Nick cast a glance at Robin, who was looking at the ground wide-eyed; clearly, he was impressed by the system.

"That's actually a very good idea," he said.

"It's worked so far," Nick speculated. "We've been a country for as long as I can remember, _and_ beyond. Though _some_ times, the wrong a-hole rises to power and oppression sets in, then you have revolutions and new governments and all that fun stuff."

They had walked into the reception room of the ZPD, and now attention had started to focus on them. Some animals, though most were going about their business, began to turn their heads in order to get a good look at Robin and his ripped-up shirt. Nick watched him carefully, looking for signs of uneasiness. Sure enough, Robin's eyes conveyed his apprehension, giving off a feeling of timidity. Nick whispered to him.

"Don't worry about them," he assured the outlaw. "Remember, we would never have expected this in a million years. So...you're kind of like a celebrity. Word travels fast."

"Hey, is that the fox out of time?" A disembodied voice called out.

Nick heard Robin whimper; it was a very quiet whimper, but his vulpine ears were exceptionally keen. Almost as good as Judy's. "Hey, don't worry about it," he whispered. "Just keep walking and make a little bit of eye contact every few seconds."

He threw his arm around Robin's shoulders and kept him walking at a steady pace, disguising it as a couple friends walking through the police station. "Come on, Fred, let's go get you cleaned up and then we'll go have a beer." He lowered his voice so only Robin could hear him and said, "Play along."

"Why not get a be-er first?" Nick winced on the inside; hopefully, no one would think twice about Robin's mispronunciation of the word "beer." He quickly tried to cover it up. "You sure you _need_ a beer? I mean, you're slurring your speech a bit."

Robin picked up on the cue and suddenly became more drunk-sounding. "I'm perff'ly fine. I dunnee da beer, buddawanwan."

"Just because you want a beer, Fred, doesn't mean you should have one," Nick replied as they got within arm's reach of the front door. He pushed it open with one paw, holding Robin with the other. "Let's go and get you home safe."

As the door closed, Robin tried to sell it again. "Budda beer sounds good!" And just before they were home free, he faked a hiccup. They walked down the steps together to Nick's car, becoming their normal selves again.

"Well now," Nick looked at Robin. "That was some good acting right there."

"You wouldn't believe the things I've had to do to get away from Prince John," Robin replied. "Sometimes, I think I could fool my own mother," he added with a laugh.

"Yeah, quick question," Nick said as they approached his car. "How'd you know what a beer was?"

"I know how animals attempt to handle a drunkard. You threw your arm around me to keep me on a straight line, talked loudly so I could clearly hear what you were saying...it was up to me to look like a true drunkard."

Nick was impressed. "That's...pretty much exactly what I would do. You're good."

"If I wasn't good, I'd have...been hanged…" Nick cast a glance at Robin to figure out why he was slowing his speech; Zootopia's newest citizen was staring at the cars in awe and befuddlement, unsure of their purpose, no doubt. He started looking around, sniffing wildly. "Where are the carriages?" he asked, turning to Nick for an answer.

"This is one of the more...fun technological advances we've had in the past millennium. The car is basically a carriage, but it does so much more than get you from one place to the next." Nick opened his door. "Go on, get in. I'll show you." Nick got himself situated, buckled his seatbelt and put the keys in the ignition; when he looked over, however, Robin was still hesitant to get in. Nick rolled his eyes. "Come on, Rob, just get in the car. It's not gonna bite you. Nothing in Zootopia's gonna bite you. Stop being such a 'fraidy cat."

Robin took Nick at his word, climbing in, but sitting gingerly, as if there was a bomb under the cushion. He closed the door very gently, and it predictably refused to close completely. Nick offered some friendly coaching. "Here, try closing it harder."

Nick watched him, curious to see Robin's reaction to his command. Robin looked the door over, sizing it up, opened it a bit more, and then slammed it as hard as he could, shaking the entire car.

"Whooooa, kay," Nick protested, putting both paws on Robin's arm in an attempt to get his attention. "Maybe not so forceful next time."

"Oh," Robin said, looking at him apologetically. "Sorry."

"No harm done," Nick replied. "You didn't know." He turned back to the steering wheel. "Now, remember - none of this is magic. It's all non-magic stuff, okay? So don't freak out on me." He twisted the key, and the car rumbled, turning over. Robin started to whimper.

"Come on, Rob." Nick was a little disappointed. "What did I just say?"

"I know, I know, but we woke it up!" Robin said, a bit frantically.

"Oh, Robin," Nick chuckled, now understanding the latter's train of thought. "It's not a living thing. It's like a...drawbridge. It helps you move around, but it's not alive."

'Why's it making that noise?" Robin asked, clearly still somewhat afraid as he pointed out what Nick assumed was the dinging noise.

"You see that silver thing to your right?" Nick pointed to the passenger's side seat belt. Robin followed Nick's index finger, and recoiled his head in discovery. "Yes?" he said; it was more of a question than an answer.

"Grab it, pull it across your chest, and put it in that red thing near your left leg." Nick traced his finger down to the buckle and tapped it a few times to ensure that Robin knew what he was talking about. "That makes the noise stop

Robin took the seat belt, cautiously crossed it over his chest, and clicked it into the buckle. He poked it a few times, then looked at Nick. "What purpose does it serve?" he asked.

"It keeps you from getting hurt really bad if you hit something while you're in the car," Nick explained. "Every time you get into a car, you have to make sure to do what you just did. Very, very important." Nick wiggled his fingers as he made for the dashboard. "Now for the fun part."

He hit the power button, and rock music played softly; he was very conscious about the volume of his music when he wasn't driving, so he made sure to quiet his playlist whenever he turned the car off. It also gave Robin a chance to warm up to it. Unfortunately, Robin had second thoughts.

"It's talking to us!" he cried out, and started doing things that Nick could only assume were to ward off demons.

"Calm down, Robin!" he replied; it was like a little kid discovering everything at once. "Remember what I said? No witchcraft, it's all perfectly normal. What you're hearing right now is music. You've listened to music, right?"

A shadow cast itself over Robin's face. "Only during the Crusades. But please, don't make me talk about that. Please."

Nick knew about the Crusades, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a war veteran relive the terrors of the front lines. "Don't worry, Robin," he assured the other fox. "I won't bring it up."

"Thank you," Robin said. He pricked his ears up, and after a few seconds, he asked, "Why is it so quiet?"

"Because the volume's turned down," Nick replied, reaching for the volume knob. "But let me fix that." He slowly twisted the knob, and the music got louder. As he did, he instinctively kept his eyes on Robin so that if the latter tried anything, he could stop him. Robin went a few seconds without a reaction, then cocked his head.

"He sounds angry," he observed. "And what are those noises in the background?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Nick said. "Well, actually, I did, but...it's just a figure of speech. You hear that sort of buzzing sound?"

"Yes," Robin.

"That's an electric guitar. It's like a…" He paused. What was the name for those old timey guitars with no frets and a huge body?

"A what?"

"A lute!" Nick said, attempting to snap his fingers; unfortunately, he thwarted by his paw pads. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that we foxes can't snap our fingers together. Great. Anyway, it's like a lute, but there are some differences. For example, guitars have these things called 'frets,' and they make it easier to play the right note. Another major difference, and you picked up on it, is that electric guitars use electricity."

"What's ekeltricity?"

Nick suppressed a smile, but just barely. "E-lec-tri-ci-ty. Have you ever put on clothes and then realized that your fur's all poofy?"

"Yes," Robin confirmed.

"That's a form of electricity. So, almost a thousand years from your time, we've been able to harness that power and use it for a lot of things we take for granted. In this case, the electric guitar uses electricity to make that sound. And do you hear the crashy stuff?"

Robin looked like he was straining to figure out what Nick meant. "I think so."

"Those are drums."

Robin gave him a weird look. "Those are the most frightening drums I've ever heard."

"Robin." Nick was getting the slightest bit impatient. "Everything's changed, remember?" Then he realized something. "Oh, crap."

"What?" Robin asked.

"Diseases. You're immune to stuff that died out really long ago, but not to modern viruses. We'll have to get you immunized quickly." Nick silently prayed that he wouldn't catch anything from his ancestor. "Back to drums. Now, you're used to one guy hitting one drum. Today, we have one guy and about fourteen different drums, and he hits them using sticks. His job, like the drummer from your time, is to keep the rhythm of the song. The only difference is that drummers today have a lot more options to make music more interesting."

"What about the animal singing?" Robin asked.

Nick thought about it. "Yeah, that hasn't really changed. But if you start listening to death metal and other stuff like that, then it's changed. A lot. And then you have the hardcore bands that actually worship Satan...and trust me, they're just...godawful." Nick pulled out of his parking space. "I mean, if you ever listen to them, you'll realize that they're not actually sentient beings."

"Wait." Robin's eyes widened in fear. "This era worships Satan?!"

Nick could tell he hit a nerve. "Nonononono, nooooo," he said quickly, trying to calm Robin down before the outlaw flew off the handle. "Most of us are smart enough to realize that devil worship is just as effed up as it's always been, but there are some who do it anyways. They're like the spiritual version of potheads and paint huffers. You'd have a much harder time finding them than you would potheads and huffers, of course, but they're out there."

"Oh." Robin relaxed a little bit; he was probably speculating on what would happen if he encountered a Satanist. "You know, I never understood devil worshipers. They believe in the same immortal, all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present God I believe in, and then they choose to worship the devil, who, I might add, has already been defeated by God before."

"I agree with you, Robin," Nick said, though he himself never really believed in religion. "But now's not the time for a theological discussion. We need to focus on getting you home. Well, my home. Point is, there are some kinds of music you never want to listen to."

"Okay," Robin replied, like a little kid obeying his father's instruction.

After that, the two remained in silence as Nick pulled out onto the road, getting ready to teach Robin everything he might need to know. He mulled it over in his head.

 _Hmm, let's see. What do I start with first? Faucets and drinking fountains and stuff. Yeah, that works. Then I'll move on to food - microwaves, shopping - oh, and let's do the clothes thing. That's right. He's probably wondering what he needs to be wearing in order to blend in._

"Why'd you stop?" Robin asked.

Nick turned to him, then looked up at the red stop light. "This is a good learning point, Robin. When you're driving, there are rules that you have to follow, otherwise you might get hurt. These stop lights are one of the rules. When that red light is on -" He raised a paw at the light. "-we have to stop so those animals-" He indicated the cars passing by. "-can get to where they need to be."

The light turned green almost as if on cue. Nick gently pressed the gas pedal. "Now, when that light turns green, we can go. Make sense?"

"Yes, but...what's that one in the middle?"

"That's a yellow light. When the yellow light's on, it's telling you that the red light's about to come on. So it's a warning for animals to slow down."

"I understand now," Robin said. "That's a very good way to do it."

"Isn't it?" Nick concurred. "I love our legal system. 'S'why I'm a cop."

"Cop...does that stand for something?"

"Technically, we're called 'law enforcement officers.' We call ourselves police officers, and then everyone else calls us the cops. And every rap artist ever calls us derogatory names."

"Rap artist?" Robin asked. "What's rap?"

"Remember how I said there are some kinds of music you don't want to get into?"

"Yes," Robin replied.

"Rap music is one of those kinds."

"Why?"

"Because they have no regard for the hard efforts made by good animals to make the world a better place. Every chance they get, they start insulting any type of upstanding citizen they can think of. They're not Satanists, but the devil flows through their music. By any means necessary, stay away from rap music. I'll let you know what rap music is when we have the opportunity."

"Okay, Nick," Robin said.

Nick took a left turn and drove down the road of houses. They were almost there. Good timing, too; the song was entering the last chorus. And then fatherly love was replaced with dread. _Aw, crap, Judy wants to get it on and I forgot to get protection! Fine, then. I'll just pick them up when I head over to her house._ Nick turned right, and there was his home, three doors down on the left. He pointed to it.

"And that, Robin, is where you'll be staying until I've shown you the ropes. That is my humble abode. Now, when we get inside," he continued as he pulled into the driveway, "you'll be tempted to look around and touch stuff. You can look around, yes, but _please_ don't touch anything. I don't want the house burning down."

Robin gave him a confused look. "How could I burn a house down just by touching something?"

"Trust me, some things you have to learn how to use, so I don't want you to try and use something that might kill you if you don't know what to do with it." Nick made a mental note to keep Robin away from ovens, stoves, toasters, and other hazards until he had made sure Robin understood them correctly. He killed the engine and unbuckled his seat belt.

"Now, Rob," he explained, "to get out of that seat belt, you just push on the red thing, okay?"

Robin looked down and awkwardly unbuckled it. "Like that?"

"Yep. Now, there's a little handle on your door, right here." Nick grabbed his own door handle. He pointed at the handle on Robin's door. "That one there. Just pull-" He demonstrated. "-and you can get out."

Robin followed Nick's instructions perfectly.

"There we go!" Nick said, still talking as he poked his head out over the roof so he could talk to Robin. "See? You've got it down already!"

Robin closed the door and flashed a smile. "It's not too bad, the future," he said.

Nick chuckled. "No. No, it is not." He didn't want Robin to know about all of the horrible things going on...aside from death metal and rap music. So he just played along. He pulled out his key and walked to the door. As he put the key in the lock, he turned to Robin and said, "I really hope I don't have to explain this to you."

Robin shook his head. "I know about locks and keys. How do you think I rob?"

Nick nodded. "Fair enough." He opened his door and walked in.

Ah, home sweet home. It was a two-story home, thank God, which meant that he had more space to put things he didn't need. He had bought it when he first became a cop, a kind of "congratulations" present. It was a big responsibility, but he liked it. It gave him something to do. He was actually paying his taxes now, not evading them. His appliances weren't top of the line, but they got the job done, and, after all, isn't that what they were made for? It didn't hold a candle to a mansion, and yet Nick was totally content with it. If only...if only he and Judy could share it, as a couple. That was really all he wanted. He heard a clutter and turned; Robin had nudged a vase on the shelf. The thief quickly grabbed it with a paw and stopped it from making any more noise.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"It's fine," Nick said. "The vase isn't going to kill you."

"I know that, too," Robin said. "Vases are harmless."

"Yep. Unless someone's crackin' you over the head with one." Nick walked up the stairs, making his way to the guest room to grab some clothes for Robin; the vulpine outlaw was in dire need of a wardrobe change. He started calling down to him as he walked into the room.

"Hey, Rob! Hang in there, I'll bring down some clothes for you!"

"All right!"

Nick allowed himself to chuckle as he pulled open the drawers. He browsed the selection of clothes, then started piling them on top of his arms; at this point, he didn't care what he was grabbing. Whatever he had in here, it was much better than Robin's getup. He kept going until his claw started to scrape the bottom of each drawer, then closed it and moved on to the next one. Surely there was a more efficient way of doing it, but Nick wanted to get back down to Robin before the latter got into trouble. As he closed the last drawer, he suddenly became aware of the fact that he would have to look over the mountain of cloth in order to walk. With this many shirts and shorts and pants, he was certain that Robin would agree to wear _something_ that Nick was holding. Unfortunately, looking over the top of the clothes meant he couldn't see where his feet were going. With one misstep, Nick tripped and fell end over end down the stairs, crying out in discomfort every time he hit. When he hit the bottom, he landed flat on his face, his tail straight up and bushy, tingling with the sensation of pain.

"Ow," he said, still lying on the ground. As he put his paws on the carpet in an attempt to get up, Robin took hold of him and helped.

"That looked like it hurt," he said.

"Yeah," Nick said, still a little dazed. The encounter had left him with a throbbing chin and a headache. "It did. But I guess it's not too bad." He cast a glance at the stairs and found that each item of clothing was conveniently strewn about as if someone had ransacked his house. His face fell into a "you've got to be kidding me" look. "Great. Now we've got to clean this up. Well, _I_ 've got to clean this up."

"No, I'll help."

"Thanks, but -" Nick turned around and saw Robin already bending over and picking up as many clothes as he possibly could. "Thanks," Nick corrected himself. _I guess…_ He mimicked Robin's initiative and began to help the outlaw. "Here, let's just throw 'em all on the couch."

"Couch?"

"Yeah," Nick said. Robin looked at him and gave him a head tilt.

"That thing over there," Nick explained, pointing. "The big chair-looking one?"

Robin nodded and made his way to the couch, placing his load of clothes on it. "Like that?" he asked.

Nick made the OK sign with his free paw. "Perfecto." He went back to gathering clothes. It was a very meticulous task, but it had to be done. Otherwise, Robin would get thrown in jail again. It was like having a toddler...a nine-hundred-year old, outlawed toddler. Nick watched him closely. Robin would, for the most part, save pieces of clothing from the floor, but every once in a while, his vulpine curiosity would kick in and he would inspect something with scrutiny: sniffing, touching, looking. Then he'd put it in the pile on the couch. Nick could tell that Robin's senses were being pummeled with new information to process.

"You having fun discovering stuff over there?" he asked.

Robin shrugged. Then, without warning, his body quaked and his head jerked violently as he sneezed with a vigorous _FFFFF!_ He blinked a few times to recover.

"Bless you," Nick said, a little surprised; is that what he looked like when he sneezed?

Robin nodded. "Thank you kindly," he acknowledged, looking around the room. "Hm. It seems we're finished."

Nick took a gander, as well. "Huh. So we are. Well, then...guess we oughta start getting you into some actual clothes."

Robin gave him a look of caution. "All right. But nothing revealing."

Nick chortled. "Trust me, you're wearing the most revealing clothes of this century."

* * *

"Absolutely not."

Nick suppressed his laughter as he looked at Robin in the mirror. He had made the fox dress up in a stereotypical gang member outfit. Backwards cap, gold chain (the origins of which Nick wasn't sure of), baggy pants that started right below his glutes so you could see his underpants (well, the loaner underpants; Nick took special precaution to give guests extra underwear and socks because he knew they never packed enough, so he provided spares and threw them away after they had been used, replacing them after he threw them out), sunglasses, and a cosmetic chain in his pants pocket. Robin turned around with a frown on his muzzle.

"Is this what your society considers fashionable?" he asked, clearly appalled.

"Only if they're impaired. You know, drunk or stoned or otherwise screwed over." Nick took off Robin's hat and his glasses. "That was more of a warmup round." He put his paws on Robin's shoulders and tried his best sales pitch. "Trust me, when we're done, you're gonna want to kiss the fox in the mirror."

* * *

Robin crept up on the mirror with his next outfit. His pants, at least, were being worn properly this time, but his shirt sported the skull-and-blood-clad logo of a heavy metal band...one Nick hated with every fiber of his being. The minute Robin got a look at his new clothes, he shrieked and flailed around, trying to get the shirt off as quickly as possible.

 _Crap_. "Hey, Robin!" Nick called out, stepping in and trying to calm him down. "Robin!"

Finally, Robin stopped, but only after tearing the shirt to shreds with his claws. He looked around, panting. When he saw the ripped shreds of cloth, he turned to Nick, paused for a second, and said. "Oh, sorry."

Nick shrugged. "That's fine, I never liked that band anyway. Onward!"

* * *

"For some reason, I like this one."

Robin was now wearing his first-ever tuxedo. Nick felt a bit nostalgic; that tuxedo had gotten him a date to the high school prom. Of course, he had no idea where she was right now, but that was the past. Robin was happy with the tuxedo, which was good. But…

"Honestly?" Nick said hesitantly. "It's a little too...formal for everyday life."

Robin cast a backwards glance. "What's wrong with formal?"

"Nothing at all, but it's not every day you dress up in a tuxedo. Unless you're a businessman. And without a degree, you won't get very far."

"But I like it," Robin protested.

"All right, then, Rob. We'll just set it aside and see if there's something else you'd like to wear, too. Because you can't really wear the same thing every single day."

"Okay," Robin agreed. He began taking it off, but seemed to confuse himself. "Wait. What…?"

Nick chuckled. "Here, let me do it for you." Robin's quest for clothes was a great distraction from Judy's lust. He could only hope that it wouldn't be as bad as he was expecting. If he could just barely survive the ordeal, he would be happy. As soon as he thought of happiness, his stomach rumbled. Robin gave him a look.

"Maybe you should eat something," he suggested.

"Yeah, probably," Nick mumbled. "I'm going to the kitchen, you need anything?"

Robin shrugged. "Bread?"

Nick nodded. "Okay," he said, walking out of the room. _Actually, some bread sounds pretty good right about now._ He needn't walk into the kitchen; a loaf of french bread was lying on the counter. He took it, haphazardly ripped two big pieces off of it, and walked back, munching on one of them. As he walked back to Robin, mouth full of bread, he saw that the outlaw had gotten his underwear caught in the zipper.

"Help," he said, embarrassed and bashful.

Nick swallowed and sighed. "All right, but if you say anything about this…"

Robin nodded. "I'll never mention it."

"Good." Nick thought this might happen; even so, he had prayed it wouldn't. Now here they were, trying to free Robin's crotch from his pants. Nick went, very precautiously and hesitantly, to get Robin out of his predicament. This wasn't something Nick was comfortable doing, nor was it something he was eager to do in the future.

As soon as Nick went to touch the zipper, he stumbled and slammed into Robin's stomach. The forest dweller let out an "Oof!" in response as they fell to the ground. Nick, very embarrassed, scrambled to his feet, all the while saying "Sorrysorrysorry" endlessly.

"Ah, it's all right," Robin said. "Just an accident. Say, could you help me up? These things aren't being very cooperative."

"Yeah, sure," Nick said, still feeling a little awkward about the whole situation. He offered his paw to Robin, who accepted it.

The instant their paws touched, Nick felt a jolt shoot up his arm. He recoiled in surprise and pain, but they were not separated; some invisible force was keeping their paws tightly together. Then green started dancing. Flashes, rays, ribbons of green darted around them tauntingly, and they got more and more intensive, spinning faster, glowing brighter. Nick felt himself rising off of the floor, weightless. Then the green light began to fade, and was instantly replaced by a purple void, an endless abyss. And Nick fell through it, screaming a silent scream, feeling as if he would be crushed by the heavy burden on nothingness…

And then he face-planted on the soft, leaf-ridden ground of an unknown land.


	5. So A Fox and A Wolf Walk Into A Bar

"What the hell?" Nick mumbled, dazed beyond his senses. Groaning in pain and trying to overpower the blur that dulled his vision, he tried to push himself up onto his feet. The second he put weight on his arms, they gave out, and he flopped back down with a short "Aggh!" of discomfort as his nose hit the ground. He shook his head to calm himself and get back up, but he could still hardly see. Slowly, he brought his knees underneath his jaw and put his weight on his calves. Now his vision was clear and crisp, and he could make out a forest. He looked around. No sign of civilization anywhere close to him. Great. So he was in a foreign area with no help but Robin, and had no idea where to start looking for help. He rose to his feet cautiously, for his knees were still wobbly and he might fall over if he stood up too quickly. A groan sounded behind him, and he spun around to see Robin just starting to roll onto his back.

"Mmmhhh," he groaned, clearly dazed. "What…?" He began to blink rapidly. "This...this is…"

"Okay, who the hell slipped me the speed?"

Nick heard another voice, one he'd had a hard time forgetting. "Wolford?" He turned around. Wolford was still in his uniform, and he was not happy in the slightest.

"Of course it was you, Wilde, you crazy Yank," Wolford said, unamused, as he too tried to stand on his own two paws. "Who gave it to you, huh? One of your old crime buddies?"

"Wolford, we're in the exact same situation as you," Nick said, still not entirely sure what was going on...or what Wolford was ranting about.

"This is Nottingham!"

Robin's weak cry of relief was all Nick needed to hear. "Wait, what?"

"We're in bloody Nottingham?!" Wolford gave Nick a look. "Well, you're pulling out all the stops for this little trick, aren't you?"

"Listen to me, Wolford, I have no idea what's happening!" Nick protested. Then, he thought of something. If Wolford was here, then he must have seen the green lights too. "Wait, Wolford, before you got here, what happened?"

"I don't know! All I saw was a bunch of flashy lights and I was lifted into the air and I was falling through some kind of abyss-"

"That's exactly what happened to us! Whatever brought us here must have brought _you_ here." And Nick was struck by a question that was asked by all. "But...why?"

"It's Nottingham!" Robin was still enjoying himself, looking around and laughing joyfully.

"Robin!" Nick called.

Robin stopped laughing, but the smile never left his face. "Yes?"

"Where _in_ Nottingham are we, exactly?"

It took the outlaw only a second. "We're...we're close to the village itself!" He pointed. "It's that way, to the north!"

Nick breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Wolford. "So that means that we can get help there. Plus, we don't have to walk too terribly long."

"Only a couple of miles!" Robin chimed in from behind him.

Wolford wasn't happy to hear the news. "Look, I don't know how they'll help us get back to our own time, but I highly doubt it'll be of much use at all!"

Nick was about to retort, for he had had enough of Wolford's anger, when he spotted a folded yellow piece of parchment on the ground. "What the...?" He bent down and picked it up, inspecting it. The words were in English, modern English. And…

"It's addressed to me!" he breathed.

"What?" Wolford said, disbelievingly.

"And to you," Nick said, reading Wolford's name. "And Robin!" He unfolded it in anticipation, wondering what it might say. When it revealed its message, he spoke as he read:

 _"'Nick, Robin, and Wolford:_

 _If you are reading this, then you have been sent back in time to Nottingham circa 1207. Robin should know why this year is significant.'"_ Nick paused and looked over at his ancestor. "So what's so important about 1207?"

Robin answered without hesitation. "1207! This year King Richard returns from the holy land!"

"Wait, this year?" Nick was good at interpreting the hidden subconscious messages in certain phrases. "So you were zapped into the future from the year 1207?"

Robin nodded. "Three months had it been before I was transported to your civilization. He sent a message to me by courier. He should be here by the eleventh month of the year!"

Nick looked back at the parchment he had in his paws. _"'The king of England, Richard, is on his way home and will be in Nottingham soon. You have a rather short amount of time to accomplish the challenge that has been laid out for you. According to legend, King Richard should return on December 24 of 1207. If all has gone to plan, you have landed sometime during December 17th. You have approximately seven days to remove the current ruler of Nottingham, Prince John, from the throne. Caches of 21st century items have been dispensed at different locations where no one else will find them. Each day, the local friar will give you a letter containing a clue to the day's hidden cache. If you're clever enough to decode the letter, you'll be rewarded with 21st century necessities. If not, then you probably don't deserve the necessities anyway. Now, you will most likely have many questions, but now is not the time. For now, go to the tavern in Nottingham and ask for Otto, the blacksmith. He has armor for you to use as you attempt to usurp Prince John. History falls on your shoulders. You alone can make this right.'"_ He finished reading the letter and looked up with a very unamused look on his face, folding the parchment and putting it in his shirt pocket. "Great. So some unknown psychopath decided it was time for us to play _Druids of Gandledorf_ in the early 13th century."

"Druids of what-now _?_ "

"It's a hardcore-nerd board game that always starts out with all of the players drinking in a tavern. Gets annoying after the first few times."

"Well, mate, I like that sound of those caches," Wolford said, a look of mischief spread on his muzzle. "Sound like there could be some lovely little weapons and such. Wouldn't mind a rifle or something like it."

Nick noticed Wolford's police-issue pistol was still in its holster. "You're already packing, Wolford. You've got a leg up already."

Wolford looked at Nick's belt. "Same for you. And spare mags?"

Nick shook his head.

"Shame." Wolford knelt down and pulled a clip from his shoe. Nick was astonished.

"You seriously carry extra ammo around wherever you go?" he asked as he caught it; Wolford had thrown it to him.

"Never leave home without them," Wolford said, now unbuttoning his uniform to grab another. "Plus, my Glock's got a flashlight on it. Should come in handy."

"Wait," Robin said, as if he was musing on something. "The both of you have been transported back in time without any notice, forced to overthrow an authority figure with nothing but what you're wearing, and you don't even hesitate to step back and look at the situation?"

Nick understood where Robin was coming from, but Wolford was too fast. "Basically, cops are trained to analyze an unfamiliar situation and prepare for it at the same time," the wolf informed him. "Here's my thought process: we get to this Otto fellow, get our armor, pop by the friar's, and set up camp in Sherwood Forest. We'd be too discoverable in Nottingham itself."

"Hold on, now," Nick stepped in, remembering the relative time. "If Robin was gone in March and he came back in November, he's missed eight months of whatever's happened in this place. Nottingham could be much worse off that it was, not to mention what would develop if Robin suddenly appeared out of nowhere after over a half-year of silence." He cast a glance at Robin to get his opinion on the matter. He looked concerned, eyes wider than normal.

"If people realize I'm here, after so long..." He gave a quiet gasp. "Marian." Nick watched his face morph into fear, unease. "What will she say?"

Nick's brain raced, trying to come up with a solution quickly. Then it hit him. "Wait. How have you gotten into the castle before?"

Robin gave him a head tilt. "Disguises. But how will that-" His eyes widened in realization. "Ooohhhh...I understand now."

"Exactly," Nick replied, nodding.

"Wait," Wolford jumped in. "You want us to dress Hood up in a disguise and keep him hidden?"

"Yep," Nick confirmed.

"Well, they're going to figure it out eventually. Honestly, I think we should dress him up in no more than something that hides his face, like a cloak. Then when people peek underneath, they can see him."

"Yeeeeaaah," Nick inhaled through his teeth. "But then it'd be too easy for guards to discover him. Tell you what: We disguise him now, so that no one can blow his cover, then make special guest appearances tonight. Only to the people he trusts."

Wolford nodded his head side to side, thinking about it. "Sure," he said finally. "Compromise."

"Nick," Robin spoke up. "There's only one problem. I'm in different clothes."

Nick took a look at the fox. "That's right, huh? You're in a tuxedo with a stuck zipper. Greeeeat," he said sarcastically.

"Well, that's why we have to go to Otto, right?" Wolford asked. "I'll bet you he has some pliers or something lying around."

"But we're not exactly incognito either," Nick pointed out, indicating his officer's uniform. "So...what do we do?"

"We can't wait until nightfall," Robin told them. "If King Richard is really supposed to come back in six days, we must act quickly. Prince John will not give up the throne without the right persuasion."

"Well, then, let's give him the right persuasion," Nick replied. "Everyone here is superstitious, right? They believe that the devil could walk the earth?"

Robin shuddered. "They _know_ the devil walks among them. Prince John is his earthly vessel."

"Rrright," Nick said, assuming his best bet was to just agree with whatever comments Robin made. "Well, I think we should introduce a witch to the village. Not a real one, mind you," he added quickly, for Robin was clearly about to object. "Just make them think one of us is a witch. Say...one of us -" He indicated Wolford and himself. "-walks on in, tells John to step off, and if he refuses, which he most likely will, the other one hides somewhere with his pistol and fires a few rounds."

"Wait," Wolford stopped him. "How does that establish witchcraft?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but an animal who can make a 'bang!' noise and hurt people with just a snap of his-" Nick stopped. "Oh, no." He tried snapping his fingers, but his fear was confirmed; just like what had happened in his car, his paw pads prevented any sharp noise from being made when he did. "We can't snap our fingers."

Wolford looked at his paw. "Bloody- you're right. Hold on…" He let his sentence trail off, pausing for only a few seconds. Then, he turned to Robin and held out his paw with two fingers and a thumb up, his other two fingers limp in their natural state. "If I did this to you right before you heard a bang, would you think I was a witch?"

Robin nodded. "Yes."  
Wolford brought his paw down. "There we go, then. That's how we'll do it." The he made a face that looked as if a thought had occurred to him. "But how are we going to introduce ourselves? An English accent is normal around here, so I can't do it, and I doubt they'll want to think you're not related to Robin here, Wilde."

Nick rubbed his eyes. "Well, what if we make it like I _am_ related?"

Wolford gave Nick a head tilt. "Elaborate."

"If Robin disappeared without a trace, and his number one enemy is Prince John, it's be pretty easy for a far-off relative to make the mistake of thinking John killed Rob. Depending on the relative, he might come back looking to avenge his nephew, godson, or what have you."

"Vengeance would mean just that: we'd have to kill Prince John," Wolford said. "So...you're saying we kill him anyway?"

"No," Nick said thoughtfully, thinking up an alternative. "We need to get everyone out of here alive. If the family thing-" He gasped, realizing the answer to their problems. "I've got it!" He looked at Robin. "Do you guys believe that masks are evil?"

"If they're grotesque enough, yes," Robin said.

"That's our answer."

Wolford rolled his eyes. "Bloody perfect. So we just have to get a mask that looks ritualistic. Like we're going to find one in a Christian village."

"Well, why don't we just tell the truth?" Robin asked. "They'd be afraid of you anyway. None of it makes any sense: why I went away, how you got here, nothing."

Nick kind of liked the idea. "I can see that happening. Wolford, think you can pull off an American accent?"

Wolford tried his best at an American-sounding accent. "I've had to use this for undercover ops before, so if I can fool people from the 21st century, I think I can manage fooling people from the 13th century. After all, it's not like they encounter Zootopians on a daily basis." He resumed using his normal voice. "So what's our first step?"

"Well, the paper told us to go see Otto for armor, right?" Nick pointed out. "That's probably our best bet."

"Fair enough," Wolford agreed, turning to Robin. "You know where we're going, Rob, why don't you take point?"

"Uh, didn't we _just_ have a super-lengthy conversation about why he can't come with us?" Nick reminded the wolf.

"Oh, right." Wolford looked back to Robin again. "Tell us how to get there from here."

"Don't you remember?" Robin asked. "I said it earlier, it's that way a couple of miles. You should be there in twenty-five minutes or so. The tavern is too easy to find. You can't miss it; it's the large building with the piece of lumber sticking out of it."

Nick gave Wolford a shrug of his shoulders. "Sounds legit to me."

"All right, then," Wolford said. "Guess we're going to Nottingham."

Nick looked around at all Nottingham had to offer as they wandered aimlessly around, trying to find a tavern that might not even exist. He could have sworn that he had been all over the village, and still he had seen nothing with a big piece of wood in its side. And the fact that both he and Wolford were still in their cop uniforms didn't really help them blend in. Everyone was stopping to look at the fox and the wolf who were dressed up in blue with shiny little gold things on their chests and stuff strapped to their waists. Some were brave enough to wave a little, uncertain hello; most, however, just avoided eye contact, hoping that if they couldn't see the newcomers, the newcomers wouldn't pay attention to them. But Nick noticed, all right. Police recruits were taught to identify suspects posing to be bystanders according to their eye contact, and their faces sold guilty consciences, like they should be warning the strangers away from this vile place, but didn't want to for fear of death. Nick leaned his head to Wolford and said, "Guess they don't really trust the authority figures around here, huh?"

Wolford rolled his eyes. "When we're making contact with this Otto bloke, mind your manners, Wilde."

"Puh-lease," Nick said. "I obsess over chivalry like Bogo obsesses over the chain of command."

"Says the ex-con," Wolford said.

"You know what?" Nick replied. "Just cause I spent some of my life on the streets doesn't mean I don't know how to conduct myself." Just as he said this, he caught the eye of what looked like a beggar. Without hesitating, he strolled right up to the dog and started a conversation.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "But we're looking for a tavern."

The dog shivered as he gave Nick an odd look. "The tavern? It's over there, two streets down. But what do you want with it?"

"Nothing at all, sir," Wolford said, assuming his Zootopian accent. "We have a friend there, and we need to talk to him."

"Ah!" the dog said. "Say, what's wrong with your voices? Are you sick?"

"Oh, of course not, sir," Nick said quickly. "We're from out of town."

"Sure you are," the dog replied, now a little bit more cautious. "Anyway, that's where the tavern is. Hey…" he added, pointing at Nick. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Now it was Nick's turn to give the dog an odd look. "No, I'm pretty sure you don't."

"Yeah, yeah I do!" the dog said, getting excited. "You're Robin Hood, I says!"

Nick cast glances around to see if anyone had heard. And, of course, one of the guards, a rhinoceros, had chosen that exact moment to round the corner and hear the dog cry out. "Oi!" he said, running towards them. "Don't move!"

It was instinct and training smashed into one: Nick whipped out his pistol, pointed it at his assailant, and said, "Get down! Down on the ground!"

But his opponent refused to heed his commands. Nick, trying to avoid killing him and building up a bad reputation right off the bat, aimed at the ground to the guard's side and shot two rounds off at the cobblestone streets. The guard stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in fear, scrambling to overcome his momentum and run away from Nick's loud, frightening noise maker. Once Nick was sure the guard wasn't sticking around, he holstered his pistol and turned back to the beggar, who now looked very frightened.

"Now then," he sighed, "I'm not Robin Hood. Are we clear?"

The beggar nodded, still as afraid as ever.

"You haven't seen anything, all right?" he added. "We're not here to cause trouble, we're not using witchcraft, we're just in the wrong place at the right time. Okay? Trust me, we're here to help you."

"W-whatever you say, sir," the dog stuttered in fright.

"Good." Nick turned to Wolford. "We can't stay here. Gunshots are going to attract a crowd."

"Tavern," Wolford said. "Right. Two streets down, right?

"Yeah," Nick confirmed. "Let's go. Sooner rather than later."

Nick opened the door to the tavern, letting Wolford through first. He followed the wolf, scanning the occupants, the windows, and the exits. Approximately twenty-five animals, four holes in the wall, one exit...and they just came through it. Great. Nick was suddenly much more apprehensive about a bar fight. Five ways to escape was normally plenty enough, but when they were in a small, enclosed space, there wasn't even a chance. He leaned in to Wolford.

"We'll have to fight our way out if things get ugly," he whispered.

"Hopefully, things won't get ugly," Wolford whispered back.

Nick looked around. Most of the animals were conversing with each other, but they were also giving himself and Wolford odd looks, like they were shifty or something.

"I don't know, Wolford. They look unfriendly."

"Yeah, and so do we. Two new predators walking around with futuristic clothing? I'd have an itchy trigger finger if ever that happened in the city."

"Then we're all unfriendly, I guess. And might I say, it's refreshing to listen to your Zootopian accent." Nick walked to the bartender, a tortoise. "We're looking for a blacksmith named Otto. You know him?"

"No," the tortoise replied, a little too quickly to be believable.

"Look," Nick lowered his voice, resting his arms on the wooden counter in front of him. "We just want to talk to him regarding some goods he's forged for us. We're in league with Robin Hood."

The tortoise's eyes widened, and he nodded understandingly. "Ah, you're after the armor, aren't you?" he whispered. "All right. Otto's over there, the one with the bad leg. He'll get you your goods. Just tell him what you told me. And hey, what's wrong with your voices? You sound a bit sick."

"We're just from out of town," Wolford whispered back in his Zootopian accent. "Paying a visit to dear old Robin. Planning to, uh…" He looked around in a shifty manner. "...overthrow Prince John."

The tortoise scoffed. "No offense, but good luck with that."

"Thanks," Nick replied, and he turned around to find Otto. It wasn't that hard to spot him: a bloodhound with a broken leg, drinking what was presumably mead out of a wooden mug. Nick elbowed Wolford softly. "That's our guy," he said. He began walking towards Otto, who caught his eye. The dog's eyes followed Nick all the way to the opposite side of the table, putting his mug down as Nick sat across from him.

"You want something?" Otto asked. Nick knew the tone of voice: apparently tough, but concealing a hint of fear or apprehensiveness. He had encountered it pretty much every time he posed as a dealer during undercover stings.

"We're here for the armor," he said in a low voice, trying to avoid the boisterous laughing and shouting of drunken animals and the sprightly music of a flute. "Robin Hood sent us."

Otto nodded. "Sure he did. Look, I don't know what Prince John's paying you to do this, but trust me, he's not the one we want in charge."

Nick pulled the note out of his shirt pocket. "Listen to this: _'You have a rather short amount of time to accomplish the challenge that has been laid out for you. According to legend, King Richard should return on November 19 of 1207. You have approximately seven days to remove the current ruler of Nottingham, Prince John, from the throne. For now, go to the tavern in Nottingham and ask for Otto, the blacksmith. He has armor for you to use as you attempt to usurp Prince John. History falls on your shoulders. You alone can make this right.'"_ He put the note back in his pocket. "If you still think I'm working for Prince John-"

The door burst open, and three rhinoceros guards came in. The first guard through the door said, "Nobody move! We're here for two troublemakers wearing blue!"

Silence fell. Nick gave Otto a look. "If you still think I'm working for Prince John, _that_ 's your proof that I'm on your side."

Otto still looked doubtful. Nick sighed. "Fine. I'll _show_ you that I'm not working for Prince John." He walked up to the guard and, with a facade of swagger, said, "Pick me. I'm wearing blue."

The guard smirked. "You and your friend are going to spend a little time in the dungeons."

Nick inhaled. "Actually, no. No, we're not."

"You dare undermine Prince John's authority?!" The guard seemed irked. Good. That was Nick's plan.

"If I didn't dare undermine his authority, I wouldn't be making you look like a fool, now, would I?"

"Why, you-! Seize him!"

Nick felt his arms forced behind his body and his wrists tied behind his back with rope. The guard kneed him in the stomach. It hurt, but it wasn't excruciating. He collapsed, winded and coughing, but recovered quickly.

"Let's see how many breaths you can take with a rope around your neck, eh?" the guard gloated.

"Look," Nick coughed. "Since I'm feeling generous, here's my one-time offer. Let me go, and I won't hurt you. You have three seconds to get Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber's mitts off of me."

The guards all laughed on cue.

"Oh, that's rich!" the first guffawed. "You-you-" He couldn't keep himself from laughing.

"Three," Nick said simply.

The leader stopped laughing, but the other two kept going.

"Two," Nick said, fake-yawning to stress his point.

"On his feet!" the leader yelled. "We'll teach him to mock us!"

"One."

As soon as the two guard holding Nick tried to get him up, he leaped into the air and flipped backwards over their heads, getting his arms away from their grasps, but still deprived of his paws. No matter. He landed on the counter, right in front of the tortoise.

"Sorry about that," he apologized quickly before jumping at the guards, who had now drawn their swords. One of them lunged at him, but he adjusted himself mid-flight. The sword cut through his bonds, freeing him, but nicking his left forearm, causing him to yelp in pain. He bent his knees as he hit the ground and prepared to do battle. The three of them attacked him all at once. Typical. He rolled right and dodged them all, bringing out his police baton. One turned around very quickly and was running at him full speed. As the sword was thrust at Nick, he sidestepped it, grabbed the guard's arm, and whacked him on the back of the head with his baton. The rhino collapsed, presumably unconscious. The other two realized that it was in their best interests to attack him one at a time. The leader took the first shift, swinging his sword in an attempt to slit Nick's throat. Nick ducked and slammed his baton into the guard's stomach, causing the fox's assailant to join his comrade on the floor. The last guard standing made to jab at Nick's stomach, but faked it, sweeping his foot across the ground. The attack left Nick falling to the ground, his legs to the side, jerked out from under him by the guard's foot. The latter walked calmly towards Nick, giving the fox the opportunity to leap back up, bringing his knees to his chin and kicking them up right under the rhino's chin. The guard staggered backwards, swayed for a few seconds, then fell to the ground with a mighty crash.

Nick dusted himself off, looked around, and said, "Police business. Go back to your drinks." As the bar resumed its normal ruckus, he walked back to Otto.

"If that doesn't sell loyalty," he said, showing the dog his wound, "I don't know what does."

Otto swallowed the last of his mead. "All right," he replied. "Come with me. I'll show you the armor."


	6. Do As The Nottinghamians Do

Otto unlocked the door to his workspace. Nick gave a few darting looks around for anyone who might be following them: they had just assaulted three of the castle guards, after all. "All right, come on," Otto beckoned, limping into the building. "Quickly, quickly!"

Nick followed Wolford into the workshop. A furnace lurked in the corner, spitting flames. Various smithing tools were tossed about. A table and chair lay in the middle of the scene, housing a bowl and spoon with some sort of food in it. Nick looked around. By Zootopia's standards, this was borderline broke. But his courtesy overpowered his sarcastic, witty nature.

"Rather impressive, I'll say," he commented.

Otto gave a smile as he leaned himself into the chair, groaning as he did. "Well, it's about as good as I can manage what with Prince John taking every farthing he can find in this village."

"Well, that's what we came here for," Wolford said. He leaned to Nick and quickly whispered, "Apparently," He spoke at a normal volume again. "Now, we don't mean to rush you, but Robin did send us for some armor."

"Ah, yes," Otto acknowledged. "Do you see that large stone on the wall, there? The one that's larger than the others?"

Nick looked in the direction Otto was pointing. Sure enough, there was a stone right in the middle of the wall that was just small enough to avoid suspicion as long as nobody looked too closely.

"Push the stone into the wall," Otto instructed. "It's a mechanism."

With a ginger touch, Nick put force on the stone. In response, the stone grumbled a bit, then retreated into its shell. The ground beneath him began to make noises, like something was under the surface. Then a slow movement caught his eyes. He turned in its direction, and was surprised to see a piece of the floor moving underneath another, a trapdoor leading to a clandestine basement. Nick turned around and gave an impressed whistle. "Did you do this?"

Otto nodded. "Bit of a side project. Handy for keeping things from the sheriff."

"Another question: How often do you have to keep things from the sheriff?"

"Very often," Otto scoffed. "But I say it's worth it. Anything to get Prince John off the throne."

"Well, that is _exactly_ why we're here," Nick heard Wolford saying as his vulpine senses prompted him to take a few steps down into Otto's cellar. It was getting harder and harder to identify him as Wolford, however, what with his newfound accent and all. He caught a few more words before the underground haven caused Nick to focus his attention on nothing but its contents.

"We're in town to help…"

Wolford's sentence trailed off into the distance as Nick's eyes browsed the room. As soon as he saw what everyone had meant by "armor," his muzzle fell. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said quietly to himself.

"Armor" had literally meant " _suits_ of armor," five or six of them. Valorous, silver, and helmets with funny little feather things sticking out of them, they gleamed in what light was cast upon them by the dim torches in the room. Swords, maces, and other weapons were stockpiled, as well, on racks, mounts, and even piled on the floor in some places. Otto had been working against the sheriff quite a lot. Nick, though grateful that Otto wasn't one of the bad guys, was a little miffed. All of this cutting-edge medieval technology, and Otto couldn't have made some kind of armor for the agility-conscious soldier?

"Uh, Otto," Nick called up at the basset hound. "Not to be a bother, but do have anything that would allow for more...range of motion?"

A pause ensued before Otto answered. "Say, that's a good idea, that is! Never heard nothing like that in all me years of bein' a smithy. But no, I've only forged knights' armor." Rhythmic thumps pounded the floor as Nick watched the hound limp into view.

"But believe you me, fox," Otto said. "That armor is worn by the most skilled swordsmen in the king's army. Almost nothing can get through it."

Nick felt it to be bittersweet news. "So what _can_ get through it?"

Otto shrugged. "I've heard stories of saracen weaponry that's held in the paw, but acts like a cannon. Imagine a loud bang, and a piece of metal ripping through your armor and penetrating your flesh."

Nick had an idea of what he was talking about. He pulled his nine-millimeter police-issue pistol and pointed it at the armor (making sure, of course, that the safety was on). "Sort of like that?" he asked.

Otto looked in wonder as Wolford shimmied his way to the hidden fortress. "Yes! It looks kind of like that!" He cocked his head and sniffed curiously. "But...yours is more steel than anything. The saracen looks like a cannon, with a wooden body and a steel barrel. Yours is all steel, or…" Otto gave a few more sniffs. "What is that material, anyway?"

"Metal," Nick said, holstering the pistol. "You were close."

Thump-thump-thump!

All three animals spun and focused on the door. Nick's vulpine got ready for a fight; his ear began to twitch, and he bared his teeth involuntarily.

"Otto!" came a new, singsong voice, one with a Western accent. "Oh, Otto!"

Otto turned to them, eyes wide in terror.

"It's the sheriff!" he said in a hushed tone, grabbing the door of the secret room and lowering it as he talked. "Stay here and don't make a sound!"

The door shut gingerly, a glimpse of Otto's terrified face the last thing Nick saw before his night vision kicked in. He cast a glance at Wolford, who, also gifted with night vision, met his eyes with a grim foreboding. The cut on Nick's forearm suddenly began to throb, like a warning signal to his brain, disturbing him for the first time. Then his vulpine ears picked up voices, though faint; the wood on that door was thicker than he thought.

"What do we do?" Wolford whispered, barely audible in his normal accent.

"What Otto told us to do," Nick breathed, daring not speak any louder. "Give him credit, he knows the sheriff better than we do. He should be able to talk himself out of it."

Wolford moved around frustratedly, but in a semi-contained way, still afraid of attracting attention. Finally he stopped, point his index finger at Nick. "Fine. But if we hear that things are getting bad, we crash the party," he hissed.

Nick nodded. "Naturally." With their conversation concluded, he turned back to listen to what was happening above ground.

"...a very bad situation yer in, Otto," came a voice that sounded vaguely like Gideon Grey's. Nick was confounded: if this was the late 12th century, how'd an accent like that find its way here?

"It's me leg, Sheriff," Otto's muffled reply explained, almost as if he were begging the sheriff to pity him. "I been tryin' and tryin' to get them to work, but they don't want to cooperate. You have to believe me, Sheriff. I'm working as hard as I can with me busted leg."

A painful silence fell on the animals above. Nick, sensing something was wrong, flicked his paw onto the butt of his pistol, ready to draw and shoot if necessary. He prepared to burst out of the basement and drop some perps, but it didn't sound like it was getting too heated.

"All right, Otto," the sheriff finally drawled reluctantly. "But I'm a'warnin' ya: miss another payment and Prince John's gonna have you in the stocks before your leg gets healed."

"Oh, mighty nice of ya, Sheriff, mighty nice I says," Otto thanked him profusely. "I appreciate it really, I do-"

A loud thud ensued, followed by a cry of pain from the blacksmith. Nick had heard enough: it was time to call the cavalry. But before he could even take the first step, he felt Wolford's paw grab his shoulder. He looked back angrily, boring a hole into the wolf's brain in attempt to say, "Why not?!"

Wolford gave him a look that seemed to say, "Not yet."

Nick twisted his mouth into a frustrated frown, turning back to the conversation.

"So, Otto," the sheriff was saying. "Will you be late paying your taxes next time?"

"N-no, Sheriff," Otto moaned in pain. "I'll have your taxes."

"Good," the sheriff said in his Gideon-esque voice. "The King's war won't be successful if you don't pay taxes, Otto. You don't want the Saracens to invade the shire, do you?"

"Ab-absolutely not, Sheriff," whimpered Otto. "K-King and country, sir, those are my duties."

"Good." The three sets of footsteps left, getting farther and farther away. Nick could hear the sheriff singing as he went along.

 _Doo-da-do-doooo_

 _They call me a slob_

 _But I do my job_

 _Doo-ba-do-doooo-do_

The second the sheriff's tear-inducing vocals were gone, Nick shoved open the door like it was the top of a Dumpster and prepared to assess the chaos of the aftermath. Otto was on the floor, holding his cast and in clear pain. It was instinct: Nick races to him and knelt down next to him, taking a look at the leg, which didn't look like it had sustained more injury. He heard Wolford putting some hustle into climbing up the stairs.

"You gonna survive?" he asked.

"I'm sure I will," Otto groaned in reply.

"What kind of heartless freaks are these people?" Wolford said. "Hurting a defenseless civilian...I'll make 'em think twice about laying a paw on someone without good reason!"

"All right, all right, Wolford, calm down," Nick said, trying to soothe him; in all honesty, he felt the same, but if he thought _he_ overreacted, Wolford was three times as hotheaded as he was. It wasn't a pretty sight when he got in a fighting mood. There had been a few late night bar fights that included an impaired Wolford, whom Nick always had to prevent from attacking people. Trying to avoid another such incident, he turned back to Otto and asked, "Are they normally like that?"

Otto nodded. "The only unpleasant animals in Nottingham are the ones that work for Prince John. And Prince John's perhaps the most unpleasant of them all."

"Bloody terrorists…." Was all that came from Wolford before he slipped into unintelligible, but clearly profane, muttering.

"Mind you, Prince John normally never comes out of the castle, only if there's too much threatening his place on the throne," Otto continued, "so we don't see much of him."

"Then, I guess we're in the right place, because believe me, we're here to do a little throne threatening," Nick muttered. "Can you stand up?" He offered his shoulders to Otto, who threw his arm around them and placed most, if not all, of his weight on them. Nick positioned himself to help the old blacksmith up, then pushed his feet against the floor hard, as if he were lifting weights, eventually bringing Otto to a standing position.

"Mighty nice of ya, sir," Otto thanked him, reaching for his crutch. "If you weren't here, I mighta been layin' here for days 'til someone walked in on me."

"No problem," Nick said, panting slightly as he looked at Wolford.

"All right, then," Wolford said in a way that seemed like he was about to give an order. "Guess we've got to get rid of Prince John _and_ all of his guards. And the sheriff."

"Yeah, well what else is new?" Nick turned back to Otto. "Listen, we need to borrow three of those suits of armor. We'll have them back by this time next week. Scout's honor."

Otto nodded. "You say you're against Prince John, and all the evidence shows it. Go ahead. The suits are yours. Just...one question," he added, for Nick was already turning to grab the armor. "Who's the third suit for?"

Nick stopped right in the middle of reaching for the third suit. He had forgotten that Otto hadn't the slightest clue that Robin was back in business. Wanting to keep up the charade, he turned around and gave the blacksmith a head tilt, feigning confusion while he thought up an excuse. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have three suits of armor, but there's only two of you."

Nick opened his mouth to start an elaborate lie, but Wolford seemed to sense it, and he beat Nick to it.

"It's a spare. Just in case we end up damaging one," he said, quite believably, too. Nick was surprised at the genius simplicity of it. He was going to spin a story about having someone traveling to Nottingham to meet with them soon, where they'd give him the armor and add another member to the rebellion. Which wasn't a lie, just a creative way to tell the truth.

"Oh," Otto said. "Well, you can't very well walk around in those suits, you'd get attacked by the guards in an instant. And you can't wear…" He trailed off and started gesturing to Nick and Wolford. "That," he finished simply, clearly at a loss for their clothes.

Nick looked down. Great. Otto was right. "So what do you suggest we do?"

Otto frowned, scratching his chin thoughtfully, like an evil genius plotting his next scheme. "Well, I've got a cart out back. If we can smuggle your armor and…" He gestured to Nick and Wolford. "That...into the forest."

"Hold on a minute, mate," Wolford said, sounding the slightest bit suspicious. "How do you know we want to go into the forest?"

"You made quite an impression at the bar, an impression that Prince John won't take a liking to. The forest is the only place you'll be safe."

Out of nowhere, Nick remembered the letter.

" _Each day, the local friar will give you a letter containing a clue to the day's hidden cache."_

"Let me stop you right there, Otto," Nick said. "Wolford and I here are probably both chomping at the bit to get to Sherwood, but we have another person to meet before we depart for our forest fortress. Could you direct us to the friar?"

Otto's face lit up. "Ah, Friar Tuck! A true saint that walks the earth, he is! The chapel is just that way, maybe two or three buildings from here. But you'll still need to get out of those...clothes?" He seemed a bit hesitant to call them as such.

Nick raised a curious eyebrow. "And where do we go for clothes?"

"Here," replied Otto. "I'm a blacksmith, but I'm also a tailor. I think I have some tunics that would fit the pair of you."

Nick was suddenly apprehensive. "What kind of tunics?"

"I'll show you."

"Yeah, definitely not."

Nick hated it. It was too weird. The material felt wrong, and his undergarments felt like they were trying to squeeze his unmentionables out of his skull. Otto, however, nodded.

"Yep, you look like a regular lad," he observed. "You'll have no problem traveling to the church. The cut on your arm is hidden really well."

"Well, I _feel_ like you're trying to neuter me."

Otto chuckled. "Just give 'em a tug."

Nick, with nothing better as far as plans went, gingerly grabbed the fabric that was keeping his friends from breathing and pulled a little. That did it; he felt his ears and tails droop in relief and he gave an "Uggh" of contentedness. "Much, much better."

"See? I don't think it's that bad," Wolford said from behind them. Nick turned around the see him in a tunic. It was surreal, if anything.

"I've had nightmares like this," he said, going for comic relief.

"Well, is it a nightmare anymore?" Wolford asked. "We're bloody living it."

So much for comic relief. Nick turned to Otto. "Thanks again, Otto. We really appreciate it."

"No problem," the wizened smith replied. "Anything to give Prince John what he's got coming."

Nick nodded to acknowledge him, then turned to Wolford. "Saddle up," he said.

Wolford shook his head at the tunics disdainfully. "I feel like an idiot. It's November, what are we doing making fools of ourselves?"

"Hey, you look like a couple of normal villagers, I says!" Otto leaned in a bit. "And I should know, eh?"

"Fair enough," Nick replied at the exact same time Wolford said, "Just about." He cleared his throat and kept going. "So, Otto, just a hypothetical question. If Robin Hood were still alive after all this time, what would happen?"

Otto's eyes went wide. "You can't just ask something like that. Everyone knows that Robin was taken by some kind of green stuff. Some very nasty witchcraft, if I say so myself. Course, I isn't an expert on that sort of thing, but it was rather frightening if the friar and Maid Marian are to be believed. Prince John says it was his doing, that he hired an alchemist to get rid of him for good." Otto looked out of the window in a very melancholy fashion. "I guess he succeeded. Just when we need him most, something snatches him away."

Nick opened his mouth to tell him that Robin was indeed back, but Wolford gave him a look and he broke off. "Well, we're here to finish what Robin began," he said, changing tactics on the fly. "I promise you that."

Maybe a little too cliche.

"Well, we need it," Otto replied. "Prince John's bled this place dry of money. Soon he'll steal away our spirit."

"Take it easy on that leg," Wolford told the old hound.

Nick jerked his head at the door, looking at his cop buddy as he did. "Come on. We've got a friar to see."

The air nipped at Nick's nose as soon as he opened the ridiculously heavy door. It was like trying to move a block of lead up a frostbitten mountain. He sneezed instinctively as he made it out into the street. Immediately, he scanned for any sign of hostile activity, anyone who recognized him. No one. Good. At least his luck hadn't run out completely. He began his quick journey to safety, walking faster than usual. A good way to attract attention, sure, but it was better to attract attention and be fast than to attract attention and be slow. He felt a fox in Nottingham would probably raise a few eyebrows anyway, save the fact that he was now wanted for assault on the royal guard. And at any rate, the odds that someone would spot him between the time he left Otto's little haven and got to this Friar Tuck were astronomically low. Or so he thought. It couldn't have been that big of a town, otherwise Robin would have a bit of a job trying to take it back completely. His thoughts were interrupted by Wolford's short, sharp breaths dissipating as they became smoke right in front of Nick's face.

"So," Wolford prompted. "What's the first clue gonna be, d'you think?"

Nick shrugged; in all honesty, he didn't even have a guess. Whoever this was could be into a billion different things that they could hint at, and while Nick prided himself on being a walking pop culture encyclopedia, he was far from knowing everything. "Probably something easy," he said. "The guy behind this wants to challenge us, but he wants Prince John booted at least as much as we do. First day, he's probably gonna let us off easy."

Wolford chortled, a hint of cynicism present. "Hopefully."

Nick saw the church: it was kind of hard to mistake the purpose of the place when there was a huge cross taking up most of the front of the building. He pointed it out to Wolford, who sort of nodded in acknowledgement. Wolf of few words, he was.

The first impressions of the place weren't great. The doors were wide open, which was exactly what a church was supposed to do, but in this political atmosphere? It was just stupid. They were more likely to get robbed by the guards than the people. The windows were kind of cracked, but the stained-glass patterns Nick could see in the inside were breathtaking. The Nativity he had always loved as a kit, the resurrection, and there was one window with no purpose. It was just a bunch of differently-colored glass pieces thrown together in a beautiful potpourri. He could have stared at it all day...if he didn't fear a date with the gallows when he got caught. He picked up his pace in the final stretch, casting the hood off his cloak as he entered the holy ground.

The inside of the church, save the stained glass, was a little underwhelming. Dust seemed to be right at home, burrowing on top of everything. The church organ seemed well-used, but it looked as if it had been neglected recently. The pews were a little lopsided, like a giant blew on them just the slightest bit, and the only three souls in the place were two mice, whom Nick had a hard time defining with his eyes, and a badger he assumed was the friar.

Friar Tuck looked like he could stand a few more fasts; he was a slightly older, plump animal—much like the sheriff—and beads of sweat were present around the circle of grey fur circumnavigating his head. As far as Nick could tell, he seemed oblivious to the fact that he had visitors, carrying on a merry tune under his breath:

 _...He calls for mom and sucks his thumb_

 _And doesn't want to play_

 _Too late to be known as John the First_

 _He's sure to be known as John the worst…_

Nick exchanged looks with Wolford, and he could tell they were both thinking the same thing: this might be a bit harder than they assumed. The latter cleared his throat to get some attention.

Friar Tuck turned around, looking a little frightened, but as soon as he saw that it wasn't the sheriff's men, his joyous persona returned.

"Newblood!" he exclaimed joyously. "Welcome, welcome, folks! Rest your weary souls in the house of the Lord!"

Nick cracked a smirk; it was hard to take him seriously, but he had to anyway. Offending their only hope of standing a chance didn't seem like the smartest move. "Thank you, Friar," he replied, trying to pass his sneer off as a friendly smile.

Apparently, he succeeded. The friar, missing Nick's condescending smirk, grinned even wider. "Oh, no burden! No burden at all! Sit down," he offered, pointing out the pews.

Nick's mind hesitated for a split second, but agreed to sit down before there was any visible indicator of his thought process. He was surprised to feel a little more comfort from the blocky wood than he expected. Wolford followed suit, his muzzle slipping into a relieved look as he sat.

"Wow," he remarked simply. "Didn't know I was this tired."

Friar Tuck chuckled. "It _is_ sometimes very surprising how much one can endure without resting. So!" He clasped his paws and rubbed them together. "What brings you fair travelers here?"

Nick inhaled sharply. "Well…"

The friar gasped in fright, and Nick assumed the worst. Tuck had figured out that Nick was part of Robin's future bloodline and their journey would end there. But he just grabbed Nick's arm and held it out, looking at the cut like it was his only son. "Oh, you've cut yourself!" he exclaimed. "How did this happen?"

Nick shrugged as the badger dug around for something. "I don't know. Didn't really feel it." It was a shallow cut, so the lie was pretty easy to tell. Friar Tuck spun around with some kind of gauze-looking fabric and immediately began to mummify Nick's arm. Great. Now one arm would have lighter fur than the rest of his body.

"You don't have to do that, it's only a minor cut," Nick insisted politely.

"Nonsense!" Friar Tuck waved a paw as he worked. "We've got to have you in tip-top shape! Only the best for visitors!"

Nick decided it was best to just shut up until the badger asked him another question. Ten seconds later, after Nick's arm was bandaged with all of the bandage Tuck had, the old animal went for another question.

"There we go!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Now, why did you say you were here?"

Relative. Stick to the relative story. "Name's Wilde," he began. "Nicholas Piberius Wilde. This is my good friend, Alexander Quintus." Mentally, he thanked his lucky stars for giving him the weirdest middle name in the history of the world. Wolford would just have to go along with Alex Quintus. "I've traveled from afar to live in London, but I recently heard that Prince John had become less of a leader and more of...an opportunist." He paused to take a dramatic breath, as if thinking what to say next, then continued. "I'm Robin's cousin. We're quite a ways away normally, but we always write letters back and forth. When Robin stopped responding, then, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that I knew something was wrong. You know how Robin is," he pointed out, trying to appeal to Friar Tuck's prior knowledge of Robin's communication habits. "Always trying to keep everyone informed. I departed for Nottingham immediately. It's been quite the journey, but here I am. Is there anything you can tell me?"

Friar Tuck went from happy to hardcore depressed in half a second. "Ah," he said simply, blinking rapidly. "I...I don't know how to say this…" He scratched his bald spot uncertainly and exhaled heavily. "Robin...Robin's left us."

Nick knew he meant that Robin had found himself on the wrong end of a sword and his spirit had abandoned ship after it watched its body get eviscerated, but he kept up the cover story. "Well, where'd he go? I have to find him. He's blood."

"Nicholas…" Friar Tuck looked up, as if to ask God for help, then back at Nick.

"I'm afraid Robin has passed."

Nick knew it was false; it wasn't a lie, because Tuck didn't know about what had happened, but the fox's natural talent for drama was failing him. Frantically, he thought back to the acting class he had taken in college: he just had to pretend that the one thing he loved had been taken away from him. Well, what was the one thing he loved the most?

Judy.

No. No, they didn't. Oh, God...She was dead. He covered his muzzle with his paws, and his brain zapped him into an alternate reality.

 _Her broken body was splayed on the forest floor, a chasm of treacherous red blood expanding from an abyss underneath her, threatening to swallow her whole. Blood was slashed, spattered, spilled everywhere. It dripped from the leaves that towered over her, mingling with the rain that penetrated the canopy. It ran down the trunks of the trees that surrounded her, it gushed from the gaping wounds that ripped her abdomen into ribbons. And Nick found himself on the ground of the forest, the rain pounding in his head. He suddenly realized that his mouth tasted like metal. Iron. He looked down. He was completely naked, covered in blood. Judy's blood. Wait. That pounding in his head, the one that sounded like the footfalls of a giant that yearned to crush his brain and end him. Night howler._

 _No. Please. Anything but this…_

 _Nick raised his paws to eye level. Blood. Fresh blood. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he had done. He ran to Judy's crimson corpse, fighting back tears. He opened his mouth to call her name, but no sound pierced his ears. He frantically tried to shout louder, throwing his emotions into a frenzy of despair. All he could do was clutch Judy's body, tears pouring down his face, wishing that he could just die right there and join her forever…_

It worked; Nick was staring at the ground, paw shading his mouth from the intent stares of Wolford and Friar Tuck, as he sobbed almost silently.

"Awww, poor thing," said one of the mice, who had apparently made his way over to the commotion.

"There, there," said the other one, who had also managed to sneak up on him while he was imagining slaughtering his wife; he could feel its tiny paw patting him on the shoulder, reassuring him.

Nick kept up the illusion by sniffling and wiping his tears away, "recovering" from the alleged initial shock. "Thanks," he said in a fake-quavering voice. He sighed and cleared his throat. "It's just...hard to take news like that."

Friar Tuck nodded sympathetically. "I'm all too familiar with the feeling, son," he provided.

"Thanks," Nick replied, offering the old badger a smile of gratefulness.

"Actually, Nicholas," Wolford prodded with his fake voice, "mayhap we tell these kind folks why we came here in the first place."

Oh. Yeah. The letters. Nick sat up straight and tried to regain his composure.

"We were told to talk to you each day regarding letters," he explained. "If you have any idea what this means, we would greatly appreciate you telling us."

The badger furrowed his brow. "Well, a letter did show up at the door of the church today. No clue who left it, but it _was_ addressed to a Nicholas."

"Would you be so kind as to retrieve that letter for us?"

The badger waddled over to the nearest table and plucked a sealed piece of parchment from the dusty wood. Nick could see his eyes moving around the paper, then watched as the wizened friar's eyes opened wide.

"What is it?" asked Wolford, beating Nick to the punch.

"This...I…" The badger fumbled for words as he shuffled back to his visitors. "Y...The letter is addressed... _directly_ to you."

Nick's curiosity piqued; he took the letter from the friar and read it. There, in the same font that wrote the first letter, was his name:

 _Nicholas P. Wilde_

Nick was stunned; he couldn't find words to express what he had just seen. Okay. Now he _had_ to know what was in this stupid letter. Using the claw of his index finger, he broke the seal, unfolding the letter to read it.

 _Frankly, if you'd have died before you got this letter, I'd be extremely disappointed._

 _Only thing left is to figure out where this letter is telling you to go._

 _Really, it shouldn't be that hard; just read between the lines and you'll be on your way._

 _Getting your paws on some high-tech utilities should help you get rid of Prince John faster._

 _Everyone's counting on you, Nick. You, too, Wolford. Make us proud._

 _Save us all._

Nick was thoroughly stumped. "What the…?"

"Might I?" Wolford inquired, motioning toward the letter.

Nick chortled pessimistically. "Good _luck_."

The canine took the parchment and began to read, Nick watching for the look of surprise he knew would spread over Wolford muzzle. Wait, wait...There it was.

"If they thought this was easy, they're crazy," he remarked a little reproachfully.

"If I may ask," Friar Tuck interjected politely. "What's the commotion?"

"It's a clue," Nick explained, turning around to capture the badger's reaction to the whole thing. "If we solve it and go to the right place, we'll receive something of use."

"What's the riddle?"

Wolford read it aloud to the friar, who rubbed his chin for only a second. Then he seemed to get an idea, and in one simple word, gave them the answer.

"'Forges,'" he said.

Nick morphed his muzzle into a look of confusion. "How'd you get _that_?"

"It's rather simple, actually," Friar Tuck explained. "The first letter on each line of writing. Like a poem or sonnet."

Nick grabbed the letter from Wolford and gave it a quick once-over. F, O, R, G, E...S. Huh. Smart badger. "Well, then," he said aloud. "You're right."

"But that just raises the question of where the forges are," Wolford said, in an obvious attempt (to Nick, at least) to lead the badger into giving them the answer.

"There are some old forges in the forest somewhere. They're fairly close to the village, but no one's been in there for quite a while. They went out of use once London started up their forges. Nottingham's only contribution to the cause was Robin, but…" The badger faltered. "Well, you already know. So now we wait, cut off from news of the war."

"All right," Nick said, giving Wolford an uneasy look in the hopes of getting his hesitance across. "Guess we're headed for the forges."


	7. Medieval Geocaching

The old forges loomed over Nick's spirits like the shadow of death. However much angst and suspense he had felt about getting "McFly"-ed and sent to overthrow a ruthless dictator was elevated considerably when he realized exactly how much he would have to sort through to get something that might not be worth all the time it took to find it. He looked over at Wolford, who seemed to be having the same thoughts as he stared up at the daunting stone buildings. Their broken, jagged spires stabbed the sky violently, tearing it apart in an attempt to grow ever taller. Burn marks and ash covered most of the stone, worn from heavy use. Primitive iron assembly lines were covered with a fox-colored rust. As Nick took in the building's interior, he felt a sense of respect for the animals that built it. It was, after all, very impressive for its time, and he couldn't fathom how many man-hours went into making this place an outlet for a holy war. These people were really dedicated to their religion. But he knew that, of course, because of the whole crusade situation. He looked to Robin, who had a nostalgic air about him. Guess he was more excited to come along than he let show; Nick had to spend a few minutes convincing him to join the gang. Turns out his convincing didn't really mean anything until he got Robin out of the tuxedo and into the robe he used to keep his cover while visiting Otto and the friar. Without his hooded robe, Nick found the tunic to be too breezy without undergarments and, since said undergarments were in short supply, he was forced to constantly make sure that he wasn't poking through anywhere.

"Holding up okay there?" he asked his ancestor.

Robin's eyes were taking in the whole structure, each new second slammed with a new reminiscence. "I…" he said, a bit weakly.

"Hey." Nick instinctively put his paw on Robin's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"I...I was an apprentice here," Robin responded. "Before I went off to the desert to fight in the war." He pointed to one of the lines. "That was where I worked most of the day, taking workable pieces of red steel and giving them to the blacksmiths. I watched them work as much as I could. Their methods were hypnotic, bringing their hammers down on the sword they wished to create, producing masterpieces that no one could see at the start." He sighed in a way that sounded a lot like he was pining for the old days. "Then I became a stable boy, grooming steeds during the day, training with my master well into the night. And now…" He gave another sigh that sounded like he was getting overwhelmed with memories and wishful thinking. "Well, you know what's happening now."

"Indeed we do," Wolford chipped in. "You're coming back and giving the crown back to the rightful ruler of England."

"Are you sure the note gave us no more than the general location of the cache?" Robin asked, turning to Nick.

"Unless there's some kind of Caesar cipher or a message written in invisible ink, no," Nick shook his head, making sure to leave the sarcasm out of what would usually be one of his more condescending comments. "Any ideas? Secret hiding places that are hard to get to? Easily overlooked areas?"

Robin paused, clearly thinking. "Well," he said slowly, after a few seconds of musing, "there was a door that many people never noticed. It was in the very back, at the wall on the opposite end of us. There." He pointed. "To the right."

Nick looked for the door. Yep. There it was, in all it's wooden, half-hinged, drooping glory. The only thing going through his head was, "And it hasn't turned into kindling...why?"

"That's the target?" Wolford asked him.

"Indeed," Robin confirmed.

"Well, let us go have a looksie, shall we?" Nick swaggered, his vulpine psychology commanding him to arrogantly and sarcastically stroll along through the ruins. Yep, just another walk in the park nine hundred years ago, searching for something to help them blow things up and rebel against the government.

Nothing unusual about that, right?

As Nick approached the door, he could hear something rustling inside. He drew his pistol, which he had been keeping inside his villager's boots, and made sure it was loaded before looking back at Wolford and doing the "cover me" look he had seen action heroes do a million times. Wolford nodded, unsheathing his own weapon and aiming it over Nick's shoulder to assist his ally. Nick tried to see what was inside, peering through the cracks in the door. He could see nothing. His plan "A" foiled, eh turned to Wolford, paw on the huge iron ring that served as the doorknob. With his pistol paw, he held up his fingers in a countdown.

One...Two….Three!

Nick ripped the door open and waited for something to attack him, but soon he realized that no living thing had made the noise. It was dark, indeed, but the only objects in sight were a large barrel and a metal crate, way too advanced to be medieval work.

"Well, guess we can safely say we found our drop point." Nick turned to Robin, impressed. "Nice. How'd you figure that one out?"

Robin shrugged. "Just a guess."

Nick heard Wolford give a snort of suspicion, as if to say, "Yeah, right." Nick ignored him, his attention focused on the mystery package. It looked like the lock on it wasn't just for show; someone definitely wanted to give them a bigger challenge. He looked around for a key or a crowbar, but no luck. With no other options, he inspected the crate itself. He checked on top of it, behind it. Nothing. Which meant their only hope would be checking underneath it. Not sure what was in it, he thought he might be able to lift it on his own. After all, it was their first drop; whoever was tugging their puppet strings was probably giving them an assortment of ugly Christmas sweaters. He grabbed hold of the bottom of the metal crate and lifted. The crate didn't budge. Nick tried again, this time squatting down and pushing against the ground in an attempt to put more force behind his movement. He felt the suddenly massive object lift a few inches off the dirt, but his muscles gave out and he was forced to jump back to avoid getting hurt.

"Looks like it's going to take a bit more than that to get it moving," Wolford pointed out the obvious.

"Do you need help?" Robin asked, his chivalrous nature as present as ever.

"Yeah, you grab the other end. Wolford, grab the side," Nick responded. They might not even need Wolford, but better safe than sorry. Plus, he would take some of the load off their shoulders. Nick re-assumed his position and waited for the other two to chip in. Once he felt they were ready, he said, "One, two, three, _lift_!"

The crate succumbed to the strength of the three grown renegades, now moderately heavy due to the distribution of labor. Nick found it was like heaving a backpack over his shoulder. He immediately began to solve the next problem: getting the three of them, crate in tow, out of the door.

"Turn to the right, you two," he said, acting as the pivot as he waited for them to complete their task. He felt the weight shift as they did. Whatever was in there was big, which only meant that it was worthless or priceless. Guess they'd find out. He checked the door and found that they would all fit easily. Good. That was one thing that had gone right today.

The trio set the crate down almost as soon as they got out of the small, dark room. As Nick wiped his brow, he could only wonder what their supplier could have sent. He wouldn't find out, though, until they attacked that lock and broke it off the container.

So...how were they going to beat a lock whose key was manufactured centuries in the future?

Nick turned to his allies. "Any suggestions?"

"We could gnaw on it," Robin offered.

"Maybe something a little easier," Wolford interjected. "And less damaging to our precious teeth." He took less than half a second to look around for, and find, an instrument of destruction. "There." He pointed to a rusty, jagged piece of metal sticking out of a pile of rubble twenty feet away. "We can use that as a lever and snap the lock off." He strutted up a jog and pried it loose from its bonds, holding it like a sword as he came back.

"All right, let's give it a try," Nick agreed. It was their best bet, after all. Probably best if they tried everything they could. If they didn't get this open, it would make life that much harder. He grabbed the rod to give Wolford some help, guiding it in between the bars that set the lock. With his device in position, Wolford braced the rod against the crate as he pushed the lock. Three seconds later, the lock had enough force exerted against it to the point of snapping off with a satisfying _ching!_ The broken pieces clattered to the ground, useless now that Wolford had rendered them obsolete. Nick put his paw on the lid, motioning for Robin to grab the other side of it as Wolford got out of the way, looking on with the eagerness equal to that of a kid on Christmas. Nick nodded to Robin, and the two of them lifted, revealing the insides of their mystery crate.

It wasn't underwhelming: the first thing Nick saw was the massive .50-caliber special operations sniper rifle, new and shiny and waiting to be used. The next thing that caught his eye was the stack of body armor and magazines for said .50-caliber rifle. Next to the armor were two assault rifles, with spare magazines, and a note made from the same parchment as the friar's. Nick whistled, impressed. His mouth watered at the thought of using that 50. But first things first. Whatever that note said had to be important. He picked it up, nudging a magazine to clear his way, and read it out loud.

 _You three:_

 _Frankly, if you missed this one, it's your fault. The friar knew about the clue, Robin knew about the room, Wolford knew about the rod. So Nick has some catching up to do. Have fun with that._

 _Body armor should stand up to everything this century can throw at you, save the cannons and explosives. Just make sure to be careful during swordplay. It sacrifices defense for free movement. Though some medieval leg armor wouldn't be a bad idea._

 _The rifles are standard issue for SWAT teams, so the two cops shouldn't have a problem using them._

 _Feel free to use the .50-caliber any time you want. Just remember that it makes a really loud noise and that you'll want to use the earplugs that have been provided. They're under the weapon itself._

 _One last disclaimer: these rounds are not real bullets. They're training rounds with a little kick to them. They splatter blood red paint on their targets and pierce the skin just enough to introduce a knockout serum into the target's bloodstream. They're not real bullets because Robin hates the idea of killing, but it has to look like the enemy's died. Hence the red paint and knockout serum._

 _Enjoy the toys, kids. But be warned: once all the bullets have been fired, that's it. No free refills._

 _Use it all wisely. The fate of the world literally rests in your paws._

Nick sighed, a little agitated, but at the same time anxious to feel the kick of the .50 against his shoulder. "Guess we'll wait for tomorrow to get whatever else they're sending us. But in the meantime…" The massive ballistics weapon snagged his eye again. "Let's cause some chaos, shall we?"

Robin held his paws up. "Hold on now," he said, a little hesitant to use their care package. "We still have no plan to use these."

"Actually," Wolford interjected, "I think we do." There were a few seconds of silence, then Nick realized Wolford wanted him to take his focus off the sniper and take part in the conversation. He broke eye contact with the weapon and looked at Wolford. "Elaborate, would you?" he asked the wolf.

"We were talking about using witchcraft as a cover for this superior weaponry thing, right?" he said, raising up his paw in the same way he had before. "This whole idea?"

Nick remembered the plan, and began working it out in its head. "Yeah! We approach Prince John, tell him to step off, and when he doesn't…"

"One of us uses the big thing to make a noise and trick Prince John and his men into thinking whoever raised their paw is a wizard."

Hold on. Did Robin just say what Nick thought he said? He turned to his ancestor, eyes wide and brows scrunched in confusion. "How'd you know how this thing works?"

Robin shrugged. "Looks like a cannon. Probably works the same way, right?"

Nick nodded, still a little amazed. "Yeah. That's right."

"Well, that only leaves one question," Wolford pointed out. "Which one of us gets to hide in the trees?"

Nick mused, thinking about it as he spoke. "Well, they don't really know how each of us operates, so whoever's playing the wizard has to be about as mysterious and vague as possible. What's more is we need a good marksman to pick off threats if it all goes south. Since I'm better at personas and you're better at target practice, I hate to say it, but I think you're the best fit for taking this baby on a joyride."

Wolford nodded. "Fair enough. Don't say I don't envy you, though. These things can hurt when they kick."

"So where does that leave me?" Robin asked, sounding a little left out.

Nick chortled, a genius idea coming to his head. "Well, that's the fun bit," he started, still not able to get himself to stop chuckling. "You get to come with me. See, I just got the best idea."

"And what idea is that?" Robin asked, brow raised suspiciously.

"It's a surprise," Nick replied. "But, oh, you're going to love it."

Robin nodded slowly. "Okay, I believe you, but should I take my bow just in case?"

Wolford broke into laughter. Nick didn't get the joke, if there even was one. "What's got you off?"

"Oh, bloody—" Wolford got ahold of himself, wiping a tear from his eye. "There's a sniper rifle and two assault rifles. What do we need a _bow_ for?"

"Wolford," Nick said flatly. "Wolford. He has no experience with carbines. We might as well be giving a credit card to a three-year-old."

"It's not _that_ difficult," Wolford laughed. "Same principle. Point and shoot, just with more ammo."

"You're not accounting for reliable aiming and sight adjusting, recoil, reloading, handling a jammed gun properly, appropriate stance…" Nick let his list trail off because he was running out of ideas, but his point still stood.

Robin jumped in. "I'm more comfortable with a bow and quiver in any case. It's like my flesh and blood."

Wolford shrugged, his idea shot down. "All right," he shrugged. "Whatever. I guess I'll take that second AR too."

Nick grabbed one of the body armor chestplates and tossed it to Robin. "Wolfie, help him out with that," he instructed, taking another for himself. He had kind of been hoping for some undies, but body armor always had that crotch flap, so he was counting on that to decrease the chance that he was going to suffer a wardrobe malfunction. The armor went on pretty easily, but it was still kind of an inhibitor for free movement. Putting on ten pounds of weight in approximately three seconds was a major change, and he could already feel it pressing on his rib cage, forcing him to work harder each time he took a breath. Robin seemed to be doing just as well.

"I..Is this...normal for you?" he heaved, muzzle rife with fatigue.

"Thankfully...no," Nick replied, just as pressed for words as his blood relative. "This is...only f..for special units." The vest was becoming a little more natural, and he found his words easier to form. "Turns out...whew...we weren't really prepared...huh...for this, were we?" He threw his arms around and spun his head to get loose and further his comfort with his old encumberment. "That's a little better. Not like I have to do a lot to keep myself from getting pulled to the ground by gravity. Just go ahead and loosen up, Rob. Nothing to it."

Robin hesitated, then mimicked Nick, shaking his arms and rotating his head until he looked completely unhindered. "You're right," he remarked, looking down at the armor. "It's not as bad now."

"All right, then," Wolford said. "Let's go back into town then."

Nick felt a surge of adrenaline as he clapped Robin on the tunic-clad shoulder. "Ready for your first special operation assignment?"

Robin looked at him as if he was speaking Swahili. Nick shook his head.

"It's a 21st-century thing," he explained. "Just tell us where the castle is."

Nick wasn't very surprised to see the reactions he was seeing. Everyone was keeping their distance and watching him and his mysterious hooded companion, the undead archer formerly known as Robin of Locksley, as they made their way towards the castle of Prince John. The rifle felt really nice in his paws; the armor combined with it to make for a satisfying sensation of male domination. As much as he hated being phallocentric, it was nice to be holding a big gun. Robin, however, seemed just as pleased to have his bow and arrow hidden underneath his cloak. It was surprisingly hard to spot, considering it reached from his head to his crotch. Nick wasn't about to question it, though, because as long as it worked, they were in the clear.

"Are you sure this is the right way for me to re-enter Nottingham?" Robin whispered uncertainly.

"Look," Nick replied, "this way, it makes me look like a super-powerful wizard, right? Raising the dead and all that? Plus, when Wolford demonstrates the power of that rifle, there won't be any objections to our…'supernatural powers.'" Nick used air quotes to accentuate his exaggeration of "supernatural." Robin didn't get it.

"What does this mean?" he asked, cocking his head in curiosity and mimicking Nick's paw movement.

"It means I don't actually mean we have supernatural powers. When you do it, you're letting people know you're not serious about whatever you're saying."

Wolford, apparently, thought he could help out by providing an example. "Like this: 'he "helps" us with the heavy lifting.'"

Robin nodded. "Ah. I understand it now."

"Now," Nick said, a little louder than normal. "Let's scare the cowardly lion, shall we?"


	8. He's Back

"This is much more frightening than I thought it would be."

Nick hid his eye rolling from Robin. Of course it was. He's been missing long enough that everyone he was close to thought he was dead. Nothing says public homecoming like what was about to go down. At least, nothing like Nick had ever seen. It would be one heck of a job trying to pull it off just right, but if everything went according to plan, this would go down in history.

"That's what makes it so stunning," he explained to his ancestor as they began attracting attention from the villagers who had previously been going about their business with nary a care in the world. Nick looked around at the gazes, basking inwardly at their wariness and caution. He responded by smiling a slightly insane smile at them, hiding his fake mental instability in a barely visible fashion. An over exaggerated look of friendliness and a quick wave of greeting added to the illusion quite nicely, he thought. As he passed by the unnerved villagers, he could hear them following from behind, curiosity clearly overwhelming them. Robin noticed it, too, and became paranoid very rapidly.

"They're following," he hissed in a hushed tone. "They can see that it's me."

Nick chuckled, catching the eye of a vixen in a pink and purple dress who, in less than two seconds, he found could only be Maid Marian. Who else could have had such a look that spoke of spirits raised so high at the hopes of seeing one's true love, only to see that their true love was not there, just an imposter? Nick felt kind of flattered that she thought he was Robin. The closer he could be to his role model, the better.

"Nicholas."

Robin's sharp whisper snagged Nick's attention, and Nick was suddenly reminded of the question at hand.

"No, Rob," he assured the paranoid vulpine. "I'm just attracting as much attention as possible so word of your return spreads as fast as it can. We want Prince John scared off his throne, right? Killing him would be too much of a hassle. Well, resurrecting his nemesis from the grave ought to do the trick without hurting anyone. Just hide your muzzle under that cloak completely, and we'll be at the castle in no time."

The walk was more like a pilgrimage, and Nick was beginning to get a little tired. The few stragglers that they first picked up had become a mob of intrigued animals, following Nick and his outlaw relative like the lemmings he had sold Pawpsicles to for his hustles, or a cluster of zombies shuffling after him, the one living, gun-clad freedom fighter in the world. He felt he could have led them all off a cliff without them noticing. But genocide wasn't the goal. The goal was to dethrone Prince John. Easy. Hopefully. Hopefully easy.

The gate guards were aware of his approach, and he saw them tighten up. So Nick, in response, tightened the paw on the trigger handle of his gun, his left paw. His train of thought suddenly derailed, thinking about how working at the ZPD with the nickname "Lefty" wasn't that bad.

"Oi, you goin somewheres?" one of the guards asked menacingly.

"Uh huh," Nick said, raising his gun to point at the entrance. "Right through that gate right there."

The other guard smirked; Nick recognized him as one of the guards he had smacked down in the tavern. "Is that right? See, _I_ think you're due for a visit with Prince John."

Nick raised an eyebrow, loving the medieval Nick P Wilde persona he had taken on. "So do I! So let's go knock on his door and tell him about me and my friend here."

"That ain't how it works, buddy," the first guard said. "First, we arrest you, then Prince John stops by your cell, and he's the last one to ever see you alive."

Nick nodded. "Okay, I see what you're saying. And I love the idea, but...here's my counteroffer."

And he raised his rifle and shot both guards in the face with his knockout rounds.

He heard the shocked, terrified cries of the villagers as they watched the guards "die" and fall down. One face-planted on the ground in front of him, the other slumped against the castle wall, eyes closed and mouth open. He walked to the lever that he assumed worked the gate, grabbed it, and pulled it.

The gate cranked open, looking like the opening cutscene to a blockbuster fantasy film. Nick began to feel what he presumed was the same sensation his bloodline was feeling: a pang of nervousness mixed with a dash of uncertainty. Was this really the way to go about doing things? But he powered through nonetheless, realizing that his medieval self was not the kind of fox who thought about the consequences.

The palace loomed over him, the shadow of its tallest tower pointing right at him in the evening sunset. Nick looked up, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to get into character. It was time to stir the hornet's nest. He raised his gun in the air, barrel-first, and fired into the air. The automatic felt good, but he had wasted six rounds faster than he could blink. Maybe seven. He looked around for reactions. The only things he saw were cowering and curious villagers, the same mob that he had led up, beginning to form a circle. Good. They would have an audience.

"Oh, Prince John!" he called out in a singsong voice. "Come out and play!"

Nothing but silence. Nick tilted his head and kept it there for a few seconds, waiting for the doors to burst open. When nothing came up, he tried again.

"Meeesstair Johnny!...Princey boy! We're waiting!"

The massive double doors sulked open, dragging inch by inch along the stone steps. Nick gave an "Ooh!" of excitement. As the guards strained with all their might to move the massive colossi of wood, the ruler of the land, Prince John himself, strode royally outside.

Prince John was a lion, though scrawny at best. His head was a little too large for the rest of his body, but a little too small for his crown. He wore a crimson silk robe lined with black-and-white cheetah fur, a pair of king's sandals, and poofy-legged pants that made his knees look much too big. His eyes were narrow and cruel, and he constantly fought to suppress the evil smirk that crept out into his muzzle. His nose never stopped twitching, like it remained ever vigilant for the smallest of farthings to steal from the poor. Nick's first reaction of fear was replaced by disbelief and disappointment; it was surprising this guy ever got out of bed, much less run a kingdom. Then again, he was the whole reason Nick had to put up with all this, so he couldn't have been _that_ good.

"Ah, I thought I smelled a foul vulpine stench," he leered in what Nick thought was an inadequate insult. "What brings you here, eh?"

Nick cracked a smirk of his own. "You. You bring me here."

Prince John chuckled. "I bring you here? But how could _I_ bring you here, if I don't know your name and have never heard someone with your horrid accent before?"

"My name's Nicholas Piberius Wilde," Nick replied. "I'm from the far-off land of Kharmellia." He jerked his thumb to Robin, who had impressively managed to stay anonymous so far. "This is my loyal manservant, Sardil of Mundet."

Prince John, who was still approaching with his entourage of archers and guards, waited a few seconds before speaking; Nick heard him sniff the air vigorously.

"I smell something...something I've never smelled before in a long time," he said. "Some _one_ …" His eyes narrowed. "A thorn in my side."

Robin fidgeted; he must have thought Prince John had outed him. Nick covered them both. "Oh, are you talking about Robin Hood?" he asked. "He's my distant cousin. Or was."

Prince John chuckled as Nick kept up his monologue. "See, Robin wrote me letters about what was happening in this town, and I kept them all. I was incessant about knowing all of the adventures he had. Then, one day, the letters stop coming. Now, I know something's wrong. Then I get word that he was murdered…" Nick pointed to Prince John for added effect, losing his happy-go-lucky tone and becoming extremely angry. " _By YOU_."

Prince John looked flabbergasted, but only for a second, a second in which Nick felt the crowd hold their breath. Then John erupted into laughter.

"Yes!" he roared. "Yes, I killed him!" His voice became more and more nostalgic as he flashed back to a nonexistent memory. "I remember each and every cut I made in his flesh, each snap I heard when I broke his bones, each paw full of bowels I ripped out of his body as I gutted him. And do you know the best part?" He chuckled. "He couldn't do anything about it. I chained him to the wall of the dungeons, not a piece of cloth on his body, and not a day goes by the I wish I could have ended him differently."

Nick snarled. "Well, I'm here to put a stop to your bloodlust, my friend."

Prince John gave another amused giggle. "And what are _you_ going to do about it?"

That was his cue. Nick raised his paw in the formation they had settled on: two fingers up, two loose, and an extended thumb. He pointed it at the skinny dog archer on the left of Prince John, praying Wolford had gotten into position. His ears were pierced by the concussive .50-caliber propellant pushing its payload into the world, and it was all he could do to not jump and cry out in surprise with the rest of the crowd. He didn't get a glimpse of the bullet, but Nick was treated to a graceful impact on the poor dog's head. But instead of breaking up on impact and seeping knockout juice into its victim, the bullet had accumulated enough force to blow apart the skull of its target, sending red and white and grey projectiles flying everywhere.

In an instant, Nick's mind assumed the worst, and a flood of panic hit him with full impact. He'd just killed someone and could have drastically altered the course of history. This wasn't supposed to happen. The bullets were supposed to be nonlethal! With that one motion, he could have just made it that much harder to finish the job. He was about to turn tail and run, yelling "Abort! Abort!", when he stopped himself, suppressing his instinct to run. This whole scenario was now his to manipulate. He was the most powerful fox in the world, and the rest of the village knew it. So remained as calm as he could, ignoring the blood that had hit him in the muzzle. He watched as the corpse, whose jaw was hanging loosely by a tendon on the neck, teetered and fell over, spurting dark, red blood onto the ground. Prince John, whose entire left side was more or less covered in gore, was stunned, gasping incredulously.

Nick lowered his paw. "That's right," he said. "I hold the holy power of God in my paws. And if there was any doubt that what I speak is the truth, allow me to bestow upon you the lost hero of Nottingham."

And without waiting for Robin to react, Nick grabbed the hood of his cloak and ripped it off, casting the returned outlaw into the fading light for all to see.

The collective gasp was more than expected, but Prince John had no reaction. He was too busy staying stunned.

"He's baaaack," Nick added in a dangerously calm singsong voice, like one a psychopath might right before murdering. He stepped back to give Robin the spotlight. He looked on with pride as his ancestor stared down his nemesis with blatant defiance.

"It takes more than lies and malice to get rid of me, John," Robin spat. "You, of all people, should know."

"Wh..How...What do you want, sorcerer?!" Prince John cried out, clearly petrified.

"An ultimatum," Nick demanded. "Remove yourself from power before the eve of Christmas and declare your brother, King Richard , the rightful ruler. If you refuse…" Nick paused for effect. "We wouldn't want to end up like your friend, would we?" He gestured to the archer's bleeding carcass with his rifle.

Prince John was still recovering, his guards reluctantly putting on their best brute-esque faces and shielding their leader. "I...I don't care who you are or what you want!" he cried out, a hint of hysteria on his voice. "You will _not_ just b-barge in and make demands!"

Nick felt his character could use a little more rebellious activity. He pointed his rifle towards Prince John, making sure to cock it threateningly and ignore the bullet he had just wasted. He could pick it up afterwards. His paw squeezed the trigger and felt the alpha-male rush of whizzing bullets by his enemy's head. Prince John had ducked as soon as he saw the gun aimed at him, his high-pitched whimper practically audible by all. Three red splats pinged off the castle door, mimicking blood spatters in a very lifelike fashion. Nick waited for the disgraced leader to stand up, look back at the bullets' aftermath, and look to him again.

"Actually, I think I _will_ ," Nick replied. "There's a new ruler on the way. _His_ name is King Richard." He cast a cautionary glance at Robin, who clapped him on the back with his paw. The outlaw raised his fist in the air and, at the top of his voice, cried out, " _Long live King Richard!"_

Nick was full of patriotism, which was odd, considering he hadn't even seen King Richard's leading ability. Still, it had to be better than Prince John's methods. He raised his own fist, clutching the barrel of his rifle in a stereotypical revolutionary stance, and joined in. " _Long live King Richard!"_

What happened next sent shivers up and down his spine, inspiring the rebellion within him: a thousand voices raised, a thousand fists in the air, a thousand souls screaming for the end of tyranny, the start of order, the incorporation of peace.

" _LONG LIVE KING RICHARD!"_

Nick turned to Robin and whispered, "Viva la revolution, baby. Now, let's get out of here while we still can. We need to head back to the forest."

* * *

Apparently, Nick had done quite the job; no one approached him or Robin as they made their way out of the village and into the woods. He thought he had done quite well as far as starting to change things was concerned. The whole town was warming to the idea of this new fox and their old, once "dead" hero coming to fight against the dictatorship once again. Having a hand in history was shaping up to be all that people made it seem.

No sooner had they left the village wall and been on their way to Sherwood Forest than Nick found himself shoved up against the wall, Robin's arm on his throat and his intense English eyes boring into his soul.

" _What was that?_ " he hissed.

For the first time since he had been thrown into this mess, Nick felt like the weaker contender. "Wait!" he protested, struggling under the pressure of Robin's forearm. "What's going on? I thought we had to establish authority!"

"Not like that," Robin whispered in a dangerously angry tone, his wet black nose centimeters from Nick's. "Killing was never part of the plan. The wolf did it wrong."

"What, you think we _wanted_ blood on our hands?" Nick hissed back, his defensive attitude coming to his aid. "Whoever gave us those bullets tricked us just as much as they tricked you. That ammo was nonlethal, I'm sure of it. It looked different than normal rounds." He sighed in an exasperated fashion. "It must have been the caliber size."

"And what about your revelation of my return?" Robin pressured.

"You needed more than a rumor to earn the support of the village," Nick spat, anger now consuming him as well; what made Robin so justified in being right all the time? "They needed to _see_ you. With their own eyes."

Robin seemed to contemplate it for a moment, his breath coming in short, agitated whiffs that seeped into Nick's fur, spreading and filling the rest of his body with uneasiness. Nick winced in anticipation of his counterpart's reaction, waiting for an all-out brawl to ensue. But Robin simply snorted in anger and let Nick go, panting heavily.

Nick took the opportunity to massage his throat, still keeping an eye on Robin in case he changed his mind and threw a hook at his muzzle. "Look, Robin," he said, trying to further calm his ancestor. "I get it. If I were you, I'd be ready to slay an army of demons right about now. Like _Gloom_. But we can't start going at each other if we want to succeed. We've got to stand together against the greater enemy. Yeah, we're foxes, and yeah, we're viewed as liars, but we can't let that get in the way. So please. Trust me, cause I sure as hell trust you."

Robin glowered at him, still heaving with rage. Then he closed his eyes and shut his mouth, muzzle pointed at the ground, and sighed in defeat.

"All right," he agreed, holding his paw out in a pawshake fashion.

Nick reached for Robin's paw. Looks like they were going to be friends after all. But he had barely come within a foot of contact before Robin protested.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Nick was thoroughly confused. What did he mean? "What?" he replied defensively.

"Like _this_ ," Robin offered. Without asking, he grabbed Nick's mid-forearm and gestured for Nick to do the same. Nick hesitated before complying, grabbing hold of Robin's deceptively muscular arm and shaking arms as opposed to merely shaking paws. He suddenly became paranoid that he would get so used to greeting people this way that he'd have a hard time going back to Zootopian standards. It would be quite a wild ride indeed.

"One question," Robin said.

"Yeah?"

"What's a _Gloom_?"

Nick chuckled. "It's a game. Nothing more."

Robin nodded. "Oh. I've never heard of it before."

Nick responded by throwing his arm around Robin's shoulder and guiding the both of them to the forest.

"When we're done with this whole ordeal, Robin, you'll know much more than you did before I came along. Trust me."


	9. Robin's Sherwood Couple's Getaway

The crunch of dead December leaves felt good under Nick's feet. Well, his peasant's shoes, technically. Still, they met his ears with a crisp, fresh sound, as if he were stepping on lettuce instead. It reminded him of Zootopia's annual snowfall. He became instantly filled with nostalgia, thinking back to his time as a kit, making snow foxes and burrowing through piles of white, fluffy water. He remembered the first time he had made a snowball by himself. Good times. Wild times. He remembered the stinging water as it sat in his paw, the weight of the dense snow packed tightly in an imperfect circle, the rush of adrenaline as he threw it at his friends. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. That was the past...or the future. He had to focus on the now. Which was the past.

Nick watched as Robin shook his head, ears flapping side to side as he did. Of course, it wasn't the smartest thing to do while an afternoon rain was pelting the ground; Robin gave an annoyed sigh as his fur slowly became just as soggy as it had been before he had shaken. Nick wiggled his nose to nudge a few droplets of water from the bridge of his snout, otherwise completely indifferent about the weather. Robin, who had taken point through the forest, turned back to see how he was doing, and gave him a weird look.

"What?" Nick asked, squinting a little to see Robin through the rain.

"How do you stand this?" came the reply.

"Whataya mean?" Nick said, spreading his arms out wide. "I love the rain."

Robin coughed. "That makes one of us."

"Oh, come on," Nick laughed. "It's not raining _that_ hard. Besides, shouldn't you be used to this? What with living in a forest and whatnot?"

Robin shivered. "Used to it," he confirmed. "Just not fond of it."

Nick shrugged his shoulders. "Fair 'nuff."

Robin gestured to the soaking rifle, rain dripping off it like a leaking shower head. "Is that affected by the rain?" he asked.

Nick shook his head. "The only way rain could mess with this thing is by mixing with dirt, creating mud, and finding its way into the magazine, which is this guy right here," he explained, pointing to the clip that protruded from the loading dock. "He's heavy, but he's not affected."

Robin gave a head tilt, the default fox gesture of curiosity. "He?"

"In the future, some animals give objects a gender and a name. In fact, there's a few important planes and bombs that have really famous names, but I don't want to bother you with the details."

"Oh," Robin replied. "What's a bomb and a play?"

"...When this is all over, I'll tell you."

"Oh. Okay."

Silence ensued, the rain echoing in the forest. Nick could only hope that they made it back before his clothes got too wet. The cop suit wouldn't work very well, as had already been made obvious by their first encounter with local law enforcement. Otherwise, they'd have to rely on sun-dried tunics. Delectable. Nick sighed, watching his breath dissolve in the wet evening air. "Give you British one thing, though. Your weather is unpredictable."

"Undoubtedly," Robin's response came through the falling water. "It was a rather nice change from the scorching sands of the desert. The first time I saw Nottingham after the king sent me home from the Crusades, it was raining. As if the Lord himself had waited for my return…"

Nick had forgotten that Robin was Christian. Wait. Was he Catholic? How many denominations of the church even _existed_ in this day and age? Nick made a mental note not to make any religious jokes around his ancestor. "So we're heading to an old hideout of yours?"

The rain seemed to lighten as Robin answered. "It's one of them, yes. Our living quarters. "

One of them? "How many other hideouts do you have?"

"We made sure to keep most of our resources separated from each other. It makes it easier to retaliate if one of us is captured. We have a food storage, a weapons cache, and a few disguised camps scattered about the whole forest."

"You've pretty much prepared for everything, then?"

Robin thought about it. "I suppose so, yes."

"Did you have anything to prepare you for getting thrown into the future and picking up a couple friends to help you get rid of the 1100s' 'Tyrant of the Century' award?" Nick smirked.

"I'm sorry," Robin apologized. "I have no idea what you're on about."

Jokes, apparently, didn't exist in medieval England.

"Forget about it," Nick dismissed. "No big deal. Just an attempt at humor."

"Oh."

They once again sank into silence in the now dwindling rain. Nick could only think about home. He felt sick enough when he or Judy had to work late, causing that much more of a delay in their romantic evenings; now that they were separated by a thousand years, it was almost unbearable. He had suppressed the feelings that had flooded him since the beginning of this nightmare, but they had come back with a vengeance. Judy had to be worried sick about him. It must have been terrible. The anxiety, the carrying on with a normal life, shrouded by the fear for Nick's fate. How was the whole thing going to end? Were they going to win in the end, put a stop to the flow of evil that was spewing out of Prince John's claws? Was it going to turn out like the ye olde fairy tale, where the good guy saved the day and got the girl? Would everyone live happily ever after and sing a happy song, la, la, la-la la la? Or was history supposed to end with a trio of dead renegades? Had the powers that be decided his fate was to bleed out with a sword sticking out of his rib cage? Nick's soul grabbed hold of his heart and crushed it with apprehension. He hadn't ever done it before, but dying nine hundred years before he was supposed to exist, in a foreign land that had once spelled such an entrancing tale that had captivated him as a kit didn't seem like a desirable way to go. No. Death didn't wait for him anytime soon, that much he would make sure of. He gave another sigh, this one of resolution. He'd go out in his own time, where he belonged. The sooner this stupid thing was over with, the better. He'd come too far in life to end here.

"We're here," Robin said, jerking Nick out of his thoughts. Where had the time gone?

As Nick took in his surroundings, it was hard to imagine much of anything going on in this place. He saw nothing but leaves, trees, and dirt, a perfectly normal patch of forest, in other words. He could feel the sardonic nature within him screaming for a witty comment. Nothing looked out of the ordinary whatsoever. What was Robin talking about? "There's nothing here, Robin," he said. "No cots, no hammocks, no nothing. Did you eat some weird mushrooms or something?"

Robin shook his head. "I haven't eaten since we got here. And you didn't think we would leave our things out for everyone to see, did you? That would make it too easy for Prince John and his men. Watch." Nick obeyed, giving a curious head tilt as he tracked Robin's every move with his eyes.

Robin stopped next to a tree with a somewhat thick trunk, tuning back and making eye contact with Nick, who still had no idea what was going on. "If you don't become resourceful," Robin explained, "then your days as an outlaw are very few."

With that, he pushed a part of the tree into itself.

A medieval button mechanism. Nick was impressed.

A great clunk of movement startled him out of his trance, and he turned to look on as the side of a horse-sized knoll lifted itself from the rest of its dirty, leaf-encrusted body, revealing a nook beneath. Nick gave Robin an approving look, complete with smile. "Nice," he said. "How long did it take you to make this?"

Robin shrugged. "A week, if I recall correctly."

Nick whistled as he peered into the new haven. The dank smell of leaves may as well have whacked his nose with a two-by-four; he snorted in disgust and pulled his head away from the site.

"What's the problem?" Robin asked.

"You could have warned me that it was going to bless me with the pungent odor of rotting wood," Nick replied, pawing at his delicate black sniffer.

"Sorry," Robin said hastily. "I should have known your sense of smell would be different. Just…" He looked around as if the answers to questions were found in the soil. "Here." He dove into the hideaway and came back a few seconds later with a clothespin. "Try this. It should help."

Nick hesitated, then picked the pin out of Robin's paw and pinched it on his nose, yelping a little as he felt the zap of pain shoot through his nerves. His confidence somewhat returned, he tried walking in. This time, he could smell nearly nothing; the only scent he could pick up, since he was naturally programmed to detect other animals, was Robin's.

"Hey, this ain't half bad," he said, a little chuckle escaping his lips.

"Good," Robin's voice came from above, a bit hard to hear over the rain. "Do you mind moving to the left a bit?"

"Oh," Nick said, taking a few steps to his left. "Sure." He watched as his ancestor jumped down into the hole to join him, his knees bending enough for his paw to gently touch the ground before he stood upright, and walked to the other side of the entryway. His paws grabbed at a nearly invisible rope and began to pull, and Nick jumped away from the knollside as it descended towards the ground, settling with a surprisingly quiet thunking noise.

This, unfortunately, threw them into an enclosed, pitch-black space. Nick wasn't fond of those. He fumbled for his phone, then stopped himself, recalling that he had left it in the 21st century. His plan A foiled, he defaulted to plan B.

"How do we get light in here?" he asked the darkness.

The woosh of newborn flame hurled echoes of light off the musty dirt walls, the torch that cradled it waving around as Robin scanned the cave.

"I hope this is enough light for you," the outlaw answered, sounding not even the least bit sarcastic.

Nick nodded. "Yep. Fantastic."

It was a very simple hideaway; three cots and a few spare weapons and firewood were all Nick could see. This would do just fine for a couple of thieves. A shot of worry hit his brain. Three cots. Two foxes. "Where's Wolford?" he asked, accidentally letting his fear show a little.

Robin froze up. "I have no idea." He exchanged a look with Nick, who assumed the worst. They had nabbed him, hadn't they? No doubt he'd been thrown in the dungeons by now. "Oh, no," was all he could say, running his paws over his head and past his ears.

The clank announced itself again; someone had opened the door, and whoever it was had taken the liberty of following them and was going to take them in, too. Nick raised his weapon to a semi-ready position, waiting to shoot the intruder as soon as he showed his muzzle. As the knoll rolled itself up, Nick lined up his sights and found himself staring at the taken-aback stare of Officer Wolford, holding the sniper rifle with both paws.

"Bloody…" he reacted. "Get that thing out of my muzzle, would ya?"

Nick lowered his weapon. "Whoops!" he called out, turning the safety on. "Sorry! We're coiled kinda tight, after the whole—" Nick cut himself off; he heard a great rustling behind him, then was pushed to the side as he saw a flash of rusty fur vault itself out of the hole and charge his fellow cop. Nick followed suit, trying to catch up to Robin before he did something stupid. His efforts were in vain; before he even took a step out of the knoll, the speeding fox had pinned Wolford to the secret tree, just as he had done with Nick when they had witnessed the exploding head.

"What have you to say for yourself?" Nick heard him growl as he ran to the two conflicting animals, rain's embrace welcoming him once more. "Eh?"

"What?" Wolford defended himself.

Nick grabbed Robin by the collar, his paw slipping a little from the wet cloth, and threw him off of the struggling lupine. "Dammit, Robin, get a hold of yourself!" he shouted, his arm flexing incessantly to keep his ancestor from tearing his force partner's throat out.

Wolford panted as he massaged his neck. "First time I've heard you swear, Wilde," he observed.

"You said those bul-lets weren't deadly," Robin hissed, learning a new word as he attacked the wolf.

"They should have been," Wolford replied. "I was aiming for his shoulder! There was a wind blowing and I couldn't wait for it to die down, so I took the shot. But even so—" He stopped himself, eyes wide, and groaned.

"What? What is it?" Nick asked.

"No," Wolford moaned. "You've got to be pulling my tail!" He sighed, then explained his thoughts. "Even with a normal fifty caliber round, you can't just completely blow someone's head apart. They're not paintballs. They're shatter rounds!"

Nick had never heard of a "shatter round" before, but it didn't sound nice. "I'm scared to ask, but _what_?"

"There's been some talk of these new bullets hitting the market. Their physics are exactly the same as normal bullets, but they turn into cluster bombs on impact, spreading throughout the target area. So when I hit that poor sod, the bullet broke up and blew his head off."

Robin started pacing, clenching his fist in frustration. "No...no, _no_!" he yelled, stabbing at Wolford with his paw. "You meant to kill him, didn't you?"

"Why would I do that, huh?" Wolford bit back.

Nick felt like the designated peacekeeper; he threw himself in between both of them. "Shut up already, okay?" he commanded, switching his gaze every few seconds. "Now, I'm not the expert on cooperation, but I'm pretty sure people who fall to infighting like this get thrown off the revolution bandwagon pretty friggin quick. So we have work _with_ each other, not _against_ each other." He looked to his thieving counterpart. "Robin, I've known Wolford for quite a while, I've even saved his life, so I can promise you...he would never kill on purpose." He looked at Wolford. "Wolford, Robin doesn't know much about you, so his 'live and let live' psychology is taking over his instincts. Forgive him if he seems uptight, because he just watched someone's head get blown apart by an object no bigger than a small carrot. Now both of you get a grip, or I _wil_ _l_ get angry. And trust me, you don't _ever_ want to see the angry me." A psychotic smile-and-chuckle combination was slowly taking command of his muzzle, and the rain that plastered his fur to his skin probably did nothing to help alleviate his look of madness. "You see this? This is the 'slightly irritated' version of me. Is this frightening you?" he asked as he watched Robin and Wolford backing up, their eyes wide in uncertainty, maybe fear. But he didn't care; he had had it with all of this bull. They had already become Nottingham's most wanted, stood idly by while a bloodhound got his leg bashed in by a sadistic sheriff, and blown open the skull of an unnamed archer who could have played a key factor in history. He was done. He just wanted to quit now and save himself the agony of trying to make everything nice and peachy. "So trust me, you _really_ don't want to see the angry version of me. Kay?" he finished, panting a little from the subconscious effort of rambling.

"Christ, Wilde," Wolford said after a hiatus. "Calm down."

Nick let it sink in as he slowly began to process what had happened. Sitting down on a stump and letting out a sigh, he shook his head. "Day One and we've already started the discord phase," he muttered, letting go of the tension that had so forcefully ensnared his mind just moments ago.

"He's right," Robin said. "We can't start fighting each other. It would end up with us in the dungeons."

Wolford nodded his head in agreement, picking up the sniper rifle. "Whoever wants us to fix this wouldn't be too happy if we ended up letting Prince John turn himself into the almighty leader of the world."

Nick yawned, letting his fatigue show in a public manner, catching a few droplets of water on his curling tongue. "So what's our next move?" he asked his comrades, smacking his lips.

"Rob?"

Nick's ears perked up; he snapped his head towards the source of the disturbance. There stood a grizzly bear, about twice Nick's size, arms carrying quite a few logs. He was clothed like Robin, but his garments were clearly about five sizes bigger, and his shocked muzzle spelled it all out.

They had stumbled upon Little John.

The gargantuan bear fumbled for the words. "A...Are you really back?"

Nick looked back at Robin, who has clasped his paw to his mouth and started a staring contest with his old friend.

"John?" he whispered, voice quavering.

"Oh my…" The wood clattered to the forest floor as John's arms fell to his sides. Nick watched as the bear's muzzle glazed over with an awed, starstruck look. "It's you. It's really you."

Robin lifted his paw away, choking up. "I'm sorry," was all he managed to get out before his brain apparently stopped working.

Nick was forced to leap out of the way as the bear came barreling through, beelining for his long-thought-dead friend; he looked on as Little John wrapped his arms around the fox and picked him up off the ground, paw clasping at the back of Robin's head affectionately. "We all thought you were gone," he sobbed breathlessly.

Robin had no answer; Nick could only hear him sobbing into the grizzly's shoulder.

"D'you think they're—"

"God!" Nick hissed, jumping away from Wolford's sudden appearance.

"Sorry," the white wolf said apologetically. "Should have announced myself better. Well…" he lowered his voice. "You think?"

"Think what?" Nick asked; what was he talking about? Then he realized that Wolford was pointing to the embracing outlaws and raising his eyebrows, and it became clear.

"Wha—no!" Nick whispered. "They can't be! Robin's Christian! Or Catholic, or something! It'd be sacrilegious. They're just two best friends."

Wolford pondered, then nodded. "Fair enough."

Nick looked back to watch as Little John stopped crushing Robin's spine and let him go. "Nine months, Robin," he said, still a little tearful. "Nine months."

Robin stifled a sob. "I know," he whispered, barely audible over the rain. "I know, and I swear that I will never do anything like this again."

Little John nodded his head. "Good."

Nick didn't want to interrupt the moment; it was actually kind of sweet, seeing them reunited after so much trouble. Was that how Judy was going to react when he got back home? Every fiber of his being hoped so, that much was certain. But there was always the chance that she would end up getting mad at him. It had already happened once, and it was probably going to happen again sometime. For his sake, he pleaded with some higher being (he wasn't identified with any religion, but he knew _some_ one up there was pulling the strings) to make it door number one. But in the back of his head, he knew Judy would probably opt for a paw in the muzzle. He pushed the thought out of his mind and tried to think of a happy reunion, much like Robin and Little John's.

"Oh, you must be clueless," Robin apologized. "This is Little John." He pointed to the bear, who took his hat off and gave an exaggerated bow. Or maybe that was the norm; they _were_ in ancient England, after all. "We've been fighting the prince ever since I returned to England. Of course, that was before my adventure through time, or whatever it was."

"Hi," John said simply. "Rob and I have been friends as long as I can remember. It's hard being away from this one." He grabbed Robin and noogied him affectionately. "When he left for the war, it was one of the toughest days of my life. Then he came back, and everything was perfect. 'Cept for old Prince John."

"Yeah, that's why we're here." Nick's eyes darted back to the hidden camp, making sure the water hadn't started flooding the place. "Someone's put us in this era and told us that we need to get rid of the current leader of the village. I know word travels fast around here, but have you heard about us at all?"

Little John shook his head. "I've never heard about you in my life."

"Well, this is Wolford..."

"Cheers."

"And I'm Nick. We're from the far-off future, ready to get back to it as soon as we can."

"Do you not like it here?"

"No, it's great, don't get me wrong, we just like our reality better."

Little John nodded. "I suppose that's only natural." Then he broke into a smile. "But while you're here, let me educate you on how we run things around here."

Nick didn't like the sound of his voice. "What does that mean?" he asked, a sense of foreboding rising in his stomach.

"It means we're going to get hurt a lot, Wilde. So take the punches and be a fox."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I can hardly wait."


	10. Parrying and Planning

"That had to be...aggh...the hardest love tap...in history."

Nick clutched at his throbbing side as he thrust his sword into the ground, using it as a pole to push himself up off the ground and back onto his feet. Robin wasn't playing easy, smacking him this way and that, and the mud that had accumulated from the rain was causing him to slip and slide every few minutes. The only bright side was that he didn't have to fight the rain to see his enemy. Robin, however, refused to let up.

"You keep leaving yourself exposed," he said. "Once you move to defend one side, you leave your other side vulnerable. Try to keep your sword across your body at all times, like so." Robin held his sword with both paws and moved the hilt to his left side, pointing it at an angle. "See? Anywhere I move the sword, there's not a single part of me that's not open to a blade." He moved his arms so that the hilt switched sides. "This half-circle of movement keeps me from having the misfortune of getting stabbed or slashed."

Nick could barely get his words out, he was panting so hard. "Yeah...Easier said...than done." He tried ripping his sword out of the mud, but it wouldn't budge. He clamped onto it with both paws and dug his feet into the ground, straining for a second before the steel loosed from the wet dirt. The release was jolting; Nick stumbled backwards, taking big, haphazard steps while flailing his arms vigorously, trying to keep from falling in the muck again. He instinctively held the sword out at arm's length as a counterweight, and found himself standing on two legs again, just like normal. He looked around for no particular reason.

"Guess that worked."

Robin nodded his agreement. "Ready?"

Nick held up a "wait" finger. "Just a minute."

Something whacked the other side of his abdomen and he crumpled to the ground, coughing and groaning. The pain pulsed with every beat of his heart, and he suddenly began to curl up on instinct.

"You always have to be ready," Robin's patient, gentle voice. "Your enemy will use your weariness to his advantage."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, constant vigilance and the whole bit." Nick threw himself to his feet sourly, biting the sword with his claws. "See, with guns, it's so much simpler."

"Yes, but we won't always have guns with us," explained Robin. "You need to learn to fight, not just point something at someone and shoot them."

"Hypocrite."

"Fair. But I _do_ know how to fight, and you haven't quite got that down yet, have you?"

"Whatever." Nick relaxed, panting heavily and leaning against a tree.

"You want me to tag in, Wilde?"

Nick panted some more, thinking about it. "Yeah, why not?" He looked up at the starry evening sky, exhaling with force. "If I die of exhaustion before Robin disarms you, I won't have to face Round Fifteen of pure torture," he muttered to himself.

His ears flicked at the sound of heavy footsteps paving their way towards him; he looked towards the source to see Little John not ten feet from him.

"So," the great bear sighed, putting his paws on his hips, "How's training going?"

Nick chose his reply carefully. "You ever been in one of those situations where you feel like you're getting beat up really bad, and no matter what you try, you always end up having to face the same fate over and over and over again?"

Little John chuckled, and before Nick could react, he felt the heavy clap of the bruin's massive paw on his tiny vulpine shoulder, lurching him forward a few steps. Nick regained his balance and cranked his scapula to alleviate some of the pain, cringing as he looked the bear in the eyes.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," came the somewhat halfhearted reply. "You'll have to toughen up a little if you want to beat Prince John, you know."

Nick winced in response. "I still think taking a gun and capping him in the knee would be an effective last resort."

"Well, if you don't feel like this swordplay is worth it, just remember that you're not always—"

"Gonna have a gun, I get it," Nick recited in a bored tone. "Fine. Guess I'll be one of the two people in my era that actually know how to fight with swords, then."

"He-hey! That's the spirit!"

"Just let me have a few more seconds before I jump back into it." Nick massaged his sore stomach. "Robin's fighting like his life depends on it." He took the silence as an opportunity to watch Robin and Wolford fight. The fox was dominating the ring, pushing Wolford back when he wanted to, letting the lupine gain some ground when he wanted to, his sword dancing about his upper body with the delicate ease of a skilled fighter, moves smoothly flowing between transitions. Wolford, on the other hand, looked like he was reenacting something he'd seen with a tap-dancing elephant; he was fighting on the balls of his feet with a narrow stance, hurling his sword at whatever came near him. Robin finished the volley with nary a drop of sweat falling from his brow, finally twisting Wolford's sword out of his hands. The lupine looked at his fallen weapon in shock, then back up to Robin, who was smiling, clearly pleased with himself.

"Don't worry," he reassured. "We'll have plenty of time to perfect your form."

"Bloody well right," Wolford replied, clearly a little sore over the results of his labor. He looked over at Nick. "Oi, Wilde! Get back in here."

"Oh, no thanks." Nick held up a paw. "It's nice to be out of the way of relentless pain for a change."

"Come on, Nicholas!" Robin urged. "You've nearly got it."

"All right, fine." Nick spread his arms, sword in hand and a smug smile on his face. "Have at it, then."

Robin was taken aback. "Are you sure?"

Nick laughed cockily. "If I couldn't take a beating, the mafia'd have got me years ago."

"Mafia?"

"Never mind." Nick got himself into his barely-practiced fighting stance, already getting snippets of Robin's reaction. His eyes radiated self-assurance, his grin screamed confidence. Another 21st-century schmuck, another duel accomplished, it looked like. But if Nick was sure of anything, it was that he wasn't going down without a fight.

Robin lunged at him, swinging the dulled blade over his right shoulder. Nick copied him, securing his feet to the ground and bringing his own sword to his defense. As the steel clashed, Nick grunted with the effort of halting Robin's momentum, his knuckles whitening as he pushed against the thief's weapon. Over the trembling of his own body and the adrenaline captivating his ears, he could pick up a few faint traces of doubt in Robin's muzzle. Surely he hadn't been expecting Nick to hold his ground when he faced a strike with that much power behind it.

And that was all the surprise Nick needed.

Betting it all on his agility, Nick submitted to Robin's force, releasing all of the tension in his arms and bending backwards. He could feel the sword scream by the tip of his nose, but felt nothing; his bloodline had missed. Now he was in prime position to pull off an incapacitation and a disengagement all in one fell swoop. He let his feet leave the ground, hours of practice taking control of his body and embracing the unnatural feeling of weightlessness. He couldn't see the impact take place, but he felt a bump as his right foot flew up into Robin's chin, the force of the contact vibrating against his bones. His left foot followed suit, adding further pain to the equation. Nick bent his knees and held out his left paw, waiting for the landing.

His paw and feet hit the ground all at the same time, leaving him panting and looking at the ground. He raised his head to watch the final moments of Robin stumbling and landing on his tail in the grass, grunting in pain as he landed.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"Chow time!" came Little John's voice.

As far as medieval cookery went, Little John wasn't a bad chef. Yeah, the brutish scent of male cuisine was introducing Nick's taste buds to a two-by-four, and there was no artificial meat flavor or nutrients, but bean stew was a far sight better than cannibalism, that was for sure. He put the spoon in his mouth, cradling the steaming food in his tongue to avoid getting burned, then swallowed, the hot liquid running down his throat and announcing its presence every step of the way.

He looked over at Little John. "Pretty good for a first-ever medieval meal," he complemented.

"Aw, it was nothing. You should see me when I'm not cooking for three extra people at short notice. We've had ourselves a few feasts, eh, Rob?"

"How could I forget, Johnny?" Robin was fiddling with a dagger absentmindedly as his muzzle brimmed with nostalgia. "We had enough food to last weeks."

"Well, it gets the job done, at the very least," Wolford remarked. "Good work, Little John."

"Oh, thank you."

"So…" Nick exhaled forcefully. "Should we bring you up to par with the situation, John?"

The bear gave him a puzzled look. "Situation?"

"Yeah. About...why Wolford and I are here, and how Robin never actually died?"

"You already told me," the bear smiled, waving a paw. "You're his long-lost cousin and came here with your servant to—"

"Trust me, mate, that's by _no_ means what's actually going on."

John looked even more confused. "What...what are you talking about?"

"Here's what actually happened. " Nick paused, thought about stopping himself for a moment, then pushed forward. "Wolford and I are police officers. From the future, you understand. Kind of like Prince John's guards, but with more common sense. Robin got transported to our era somehow, and we tried to help him blend in to our society, but then we got zapped back through time and landed here."

Little John was frozen, spoon midway to his mouth. He said nothing, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion.

"The only way we get back home is if we get Prince John off the throne before King Richard returns. And trust me, we really, really want Prince John off the throne."

Little John still said nothing, but he resumed eating. "How long have you been here?" he asked, after a brief silence occupied by nothing but the chirping of crickets.

"We got dropped in this morning," explained Wolford.

"And have you started trying to usurp old Prince John?"

"You haven't heard, Johnny?"

"No, Rob, I haven't. I live in the forest, don't I?"

"Nicholas and I marched up to the palace in front of the whole village and told the prince our demands. He's rather worried now."

"Bloody well right, Hood." Wolford sounded a little nervous; he probably feared retribution for the unplanned assassination he had carried out. "And we'll finish the job, too."

"Without any more deaths, I hope, hmm?" came the irked response.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Little John held up both paws in an attempt to stop the conversation. "Someone was killed?"

"It wasn't on purpose, trust us. We did everything we were supposed to, but somehow Wolford ended up catching an unlucky break and blowing someone's head to pieces with a fifty-cal bullet."

"'Bullet?'"

"A small metal arrow, Johnny," Robin explained. "But it's so small and so fast that you can't even see it."

John's eyes grew even more. "And it can rip someone's head apart?" he asked in a sort of awed silence.

"Not normally. A bunch of stuff went exactly the wrong way and voila, instant meat pile." Nick cracked his neck. "We don't plan on having it happen again."

"How did it happen in the first place?"

"Like he said, mate. Things lined up just right, and we had the misfortune of killing a guard."

"But it's not going to happen again, I'll make sure of it," Robin jumped in, looking at Wolford like he was giving a warning.

"Good. We don't need any more incidents that Prince John can use against us."

"Oh, f…" Nick hadn't thought about it before; what if Prince John was going to take the death of that archer and use it as a means to discredit them? "We've got to do something about that."

"It's going to be hard, Nicholas. Until now, the people have trusted me to keep everyone live. Now…" Robin looked at the ground in dread. "Now, they might turn on me."

Nick barely had time to register what Robin had said before he had come up with an answer. "Easy. We just have to gather their support by robbing from Prince John a little more and giving them the money...without violence."

"Don't you think they'll just think it's dirty money?" Wolford always had to throw a monkey wrench into the plan.

"No. Nick's got a point," John weighed in. "The best we can do is keep on doing what we've been doing ever since we became criminals and hope that Nottingham doesn't start calling for our heads."

Wolford muttered something to himself. "Guess we've no other option. So what's our next move?"

"Yeah, anything either of you two bandits know about?"

"I've not been here for almost a year." Robin shrugged. "I don't know anything about gold escorts or strongholds. Johnny?"

Little John stroked his massive chin with his finger. "I think I heard something about a shipment coming in tomorrow morning. It's supposed to be guarded by five or six elite guards."

Nick groaned. "Why'd you have to say 'elite?'"

"Don't worry, newbie," John said, giving Nick yet another scapula-shattering slap on the shoulder. "Rob and I have faced more guards than that at once. We're still here, right? So four of us against six, with your future smarts and fancy gadgets? Shouldn't be a problem!"

"The bear makes sense, Wilde. I doubt they know how to counteract our hand-to-hand techniques."

"Yeah, but we don't know how to counteract their techniques, either." NIck stared at the fire. "Why am I the skeptic now? You were the one who didn't think the village would side with us."

"And now I think that stealing that gold is going to be quite the card to play. Be optimistic about it, Wilde. If all else fails, we have our you-know-whats."

Nick ran the pad of his thumb across his pistol. The only difference between them and the rifles was that his pistol wasn't full of paint rounds; they were the real deal. "That would only make Nottingham even less likely to come to our defense. We should use the rifles."

"Sacrificing concealment for body count, Wilde?"

"They're going to attack us on sight anyway. Might as well use the superior weaponry."

Wolford shrugged his eyebrows. "Fair enough."

"So!" Little John clapped his paws together and started rubbing them. "We get to take some gold and give it to the poor tomorrow then, eh?"

"We don't even know where they'll be coming from, though. It'd be really embarrassing if we ended up waiting for them in the wrong place. Plus, you know, we don't even have a plan for who's going to be doing what."

"It seems a simple task to me, Nicholas," Robin said, balancing an arrow on his finger. "We subdue them and steal the gold. Nothing more."

"All right." Nick put his paws up defensively. "I just...wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. I've had some bad things happen with plans that were made in a half-cocked manner."

"I assure you, planning is one of my best qualities." Robin flipped the arrow into the air, catching it in one paw as the shaft made the second of its rotations. "Had King Richard not called upon me in the holy land, we may have lost more than a few of the battles we emerged from victorious."

"All right. Guess we're stealing some gold."

 _And as the moon rose upon Nottingham, Nick felt the harsh reality of his predicament. The light that shone on him was ancient light, the people around him mere ghosts of an era long since dead. He barely knew the first thing about blending into such a primitive society, yet he was expected to not only conform to the customs of a foreign land, but to save it from the tyranny of a ruler who showed no mercy, had no empathy, and coveted naught but gold. And so, dear reader, the first day of Nottinghamian life fell to time._

 _As eventful as it may have been, the worst was yet to come...because it always seems that the only easy day was yesterday._

 _Seriously. Every single time a story starts out, the worst really is yet to come. Trust me._


	11. All's Fair in Duels

_**Day 2: 8:06:23, Thursday, December 18, 1207**_

Nick's eyelids snapped open as the sharp morning zephyr pierced his wet nose. His vision was met with the unusual sight of a dirt ceiling, a hollow hill that housed him and his renegade allies. He rubbed his eyes, then held his fists there for a moment, lowering them slowly. The dirt ceiling was still there. He looked to his left, squinting through the dimly lit dust that hovered in the air; Wolford was silently sleeping. He looked to his right. Robin's nose was twitching as his chest swelled and shrank, no noise escaping his muzzle. Nick turned his eyes back up to the dirt and gave a hushed sigh.

"So it wasn't a dream…" he muttered, licking the tips of his teeth in a quick and defeated fashion. He suddenly found himself itching for something to do. Something, anything, besides lie there. He looked around for a source of distraction, but all he could find was what he had on his person, which was a tunic and a rope around his waist. Not much for entertainment.

The sharp sound of a metal pot being struck cracked through the hill and into his ears, making him start and whip his head around foolishly to indicate the source of the disturbance.

"Up and ready, you three!" came Little John's booming voice. "We've got a caravan to rob!"

Nick watched as his companions stirred; Wolford let out a massive yawn.

"Leave me be," he moaned. "Five more bloody minutes, is that too much to ask?"

A flapping noise caught Nick's attention, and he swiveled his head to see Robin shaking his head as he might if he had just been doused with a hose; his ears smacked against his closed eyes, the rust-colored fur on his neck twisted with each movement, and his cheeks made a wet slapping sound that only shaking animals can produce.

"It's not that bad once you get used to it," he said encouragingly. "Come on. The escort won't wait around for us!"

"Yeah, not all of us live on the wrong side of the law, Hood," came the unhappy reply, but Wolford began to stand up nonetheless.

"That's the spirit!" Robin replied as he saw Wolford preparing himself for the ambush. "Let's not waste time. We don't want to be late for the collection!"

"Collection?"

"Collection of funds for the poor, Nicholas. Shall we?" Robin sauntered over to the thin rope and began pulling it; with each movement he made, the hillside revealed the morning sky and the crisp forest smells. Nick raised his paw to shield his eyes from the bright butter-yellow sun that beamed over the grassy English land. "Well, there's something Zootopia doesn't see every day," he said aloud.

"Zootopia?" Robin turned around, a look of puzzlement in his brown eyes.

"What's that now?" came Little John's equally confused voice.

Nick cursed himself; how were they supposed to know about Zootopia? "It's where we come from. Where Robin got...teleported or whatever."

"Ah." Little John clapped Robin on the back. "Some kind of weird futuristic world, eh, Rob?"

"It was...hard to understand." Robin kept unraveling the rope as he talked. "I'm sure Wolford and Nicholas are well accustomed to it, though. Well, let's get you boys accustomed to _our_ world, shall we?" he finished in a happy, positive tone of voice as he climbed out of their haven.

Nick followed suit, scanning the area for any signs of unwanted visitors. Nothing presented itself; satisfied with the results of his search, Nick let his guard down a little, taking in the view of a morningtime Sherwood Forest. The trees, their branches teeming with brown winter leaves, creaked quietly in the early zephyr. A few fallen, dirt-ridden leaves tumbled about here and there with each gentle sigh of the wind. His breath became a cone of steam, evaporating instantly upon contact with the biting, frigid air. He looked back at Robin.

"You get a lot of days like this?"

Robin pondered for only a brief second before shaking his head. "Only during the winter. Otherwise, we get bright, sunny days or lots of rain."

"And which one happens more often, Hood?"

"Bright, sunny days, I'd say."

"Bloody…" Wolford looked like he regretted ever asking the question as he began to mutter.

"Come on, Wolfie," Nick urged, calling Wolford by his less-friendly name. "It'll take like two minutes max to finish the fight."

"Fine. I'll do it. I'm just not happy about it."

"As long as you're gonna do it, that's good enough for me."

"You boys are about to get your first lesson in 13th century robbing. Are you ready?" Little John said, almost jovial.

"Yeah," Nick replied. "So long as it gets us home faster…" he muttered.

* * *

Nick peeked over the bush that he and Robin had taken up position behind. Nothing. Not even a weary traveler. He lowered himself back down on his belly, making sure to set his rifle to the side, and gave an impatient sigh.

"Thieving involves a lot of waiting around, then?" he asked.

"Only when it's an important heist. In any other case, we usually just attack with the best strategy we can muster in the small amount of time we have."

Robin readjusted himself; Nick felt the tips of their tails touch, and he twitched his to the left, out of Robin's reach, just as a precaution.

"So the night before an important haul comes in, and you have enough time to map out an acceptable plan?"

"Just barely. I think Little John was planning on doing it by himself. I'm just glad I came back in time to assist him."

"How much gold you think they'll have?"

"Enough to feed the whole of Nottingham for two weeks, I believe."

"Holy sh...that's a lot of money."

"Indeed." Robin's voice had a bitter edge growing on it. "And Prince John wants it all. But not if I have anything to say about it."

"Good thing you _do_. Otherwise, Wolford and I would have to do this on our own."

Robin gave a grunt of agreement. Nick glanced over at him. His face was set; his jaw was set, his eyes were intense, burning with an anger that Nick had never seen. But there was more that came forth in his eyes — perhaps a slight tinge of fear, of precaution? Robin's snarl seemed to fall the slightest bit, then come back, then slip a little again. Was he expecting something to happen to him? His eyes snapped to meet Nick's gaze, and the latter immediately felt like the submissive male.

"Something wrong?" Robin asked, his tone gentle but his muzzle furious.

"N—no." Nick faltered, turning his eyes back to the shrub-blocked road. He lay there in silence, waiting impatiently, uncomfortably.

Then he heard it. Marching footsteps. And rattling metal. And the clanking of lots and lots of money. The caravan had arrived. He felt adrenaline rush through him, bidding him to charge out and assault the guards and corrupt merchants. He suppressed the urge to attack, calming himself just enough to keep his instincts at bay. His gaze shifted immediately back to Robin, whose eyes replied with a cool, collected stare before focusing on the path.

A single, steel-plated boot came into view, glinting in the midmorning sunlight. The leg that owned it threw itself into Nick's line of sight, followed by the menacingly shining full plate armor of a burly black bear. He had no helmet, but his scarred muzzle seemed too intimidating to cover up at any rate; one eye had been completely removed from his skull, a primal eye patch doing a poor job of covering the wound. A glistening greatsword was sheathed and slung over his back, its steel hilt reflecting the light almost majestically. He was followed by two lanky greyhounds in chain mail armor, each holding longbows that threatened to tower over their owners.

The chest of gold came into view; carted by four rhinoceros, the wooden crate sported golden trims with meticulously chiseled carvings, and the lock that secured it looked as if it weighed more than the gold itself. One of the rhinoceros had a key ring on his waist, outfitted with about ten different keys. Nick pointed out the assortment of lock openers to Robin.

"Probably trying to make it harder for assailants to hijack the cargo," he said.

All he got in response was a nod.

Nick looked back to see what lay behind the chest. Two more archers were all that followed. "So what's the plan?"

"Little John will take the big fellow, we'll lure the archers and guards away from their posts, and your wolf friend will steal the chest."

Nick mulled it over in his head, and became unhappy with the results he foresaw. "You make it sound so easy."

"What?" Robin whispered. "Little John and I have fought more guards by ourselves, and we're still alive. Cheer up!" He nudged Nick on the shoulder with his fist. "We'll be fine."

Nick saw movement in the bushes on the opposite side of the path. "Oh, here comes Little John."

The great brown bear shuffled out and threw himself in between the escort and Nottingham, his great belly quivering a little as he landed.

"Sorry, boys," he said with a smile. "This is the poor's bounty now."

The guards all drew their weapons. Nick got up on instinct.

"He needs hel—"

No sooner had he pushed his chest off the ground than Robin's paw shot up and pulled him flat onto the earth with a small thump. Nick felt his rib cage depress for a second.

"Ow," he complained.

"Little John will be fine," Robin said. "I already told you."

The black bear moved; Nick was gripped by apprehension once more, but it waned a little as he realized the bear was holding his paw up in a gesture for the guards to stand at ease. All of the swords returned to their owners' hips, the arrows to their quivers as the menacing, scarred bruin lowered his paw and stared at John, the look of death and bloodlust in his eye.

"Do you know who I am?" The bear's voice made the earth beneath Nick's chest tremble. The fox covered his paws with his ears, fighting the urge to whimper. He couldn't hear John's response; the gravelly echoes of the black bear's voice still rang like funeral bells in his hypersensitive ears.

"I have slain more foes than you could possibly imagine. I have endured more battles than King Richard himself. And I have hungered for the blood of Robin Hood since he returned to Nottingham." He unsheathed his greatsword and pointed it at Little John, pure black, laden with scratches and encrusted with gore. "Tell him that I will speak with him shortly, and that his death swift approaches."

"No need, Johnny!" Nick's ears were split once again, this time by his ally; Robin leaped out of the bush and blocked his view of the fight. "I'm right here."

"Damn it, Robin, this wasn't the plan…" Nick hissed to himself.

"Bloody hell, we've got ourselves a party." He heard Wolford make himself known; now he was the only one still in hiding. Nick instinctively tightened his grip on the rifle.

Hide, or fight?

"Both," he growled, answering his brain; squinting down the somewhat askew sights of his rifle, he moved his line of sight past Robin's hindquarters and focused on the leg of an archer.

The squeeze of the trigger happened in an instant, the butt of the rifle ripped into Nick's shoulder faster than he could react, and the bush rustled as a flash burst forth from the barrel of the weapon. The archer's leg was jerked out from under him before he had time to scream in pain, forcing him to the dirt path in an instantaneous, silent stupor.

The rest of the escort looked around wildly.

"Where is it?" one yelled.

"What was that?!" shouted another.

Nick watched Robin clear himself from the line of fire, expertly keeping the enemy distracted from the bush of death.

The guards were in disarray. The black bear, however, was undaunted; he chuckled evilly. "Well, well. Robin Hood, a wizard." He shook his head slowly. "I would never have thought."

"No." Robin's voice shivered with anger. " _Never_. Never witchcraft. I worship the only God that truly exists."

"Yes, but what will Nottingham think of you when the rumor spreads of your…" The bear's eye lit up with pleasure and anticipation. " _Devil_ worship?"

Nick shot at another guard who was unlucky enough to be caught in the metal crosshairs of unborn weaponry. The bullet spattered red liquid across the rhino's chest as he staggered backwards from the rifle's stopping power, crashing into the chest of gold and sending it jingling to the ground with a massive thudding noise. The other three rhinos struggled to keep the chest aloft, compensating for the weight their unconscious comrade was just carrying.

Nick rose up, easing his grip on the trigger, and held the rifle in a loose, yet firm, grip.

"Not devil worship," he said simply, stepping into the road. "Just backup and some superior technology." He leveled his own weapon and jammed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder once more, watching another archer fall to the ground.

The bear's gaze moved slowly over to the triad of his fallen allies; he chuckled as he looked back at Nick, and the latter suddenly felt the urge to run away from him. Where he ran didn't matter, just so long as he was as far away from this evil incarnate as possible.

"Well, well, well," he crooned. "Very impressive. Efficient, too. But I prefer weapons that _don't_ eliminate your enemies from a distance. It takes the pleasure out of killing the lesser. You've gone soft since the Crusades, dearest Robin."

Robin gave a snort of anger, his eyes narrowing; Nick's sense of danger was heightened, and he felt the trigger gently pushing against his finger once more as he stared at the great bear, waiting for a sign of attack.

"I would rather die a weak fox than bathe in the blood of innocent animals."

"Your compassion sheaths your sword when it ought to be drawn, Locksley."

"Compassion is no weakness."

"Then why, when you ordered your men to spare the lives of the saracens, did all but your best friend lose their heartbeats?"

Nick shot his eyes over to Robin, who looked as if he had been stabbed in the side with the bear's bloody, fearful greatsword. The latter appeared to set his jaw as he took a great, shaking sigh.

"H—How do you know about that?" he

"Indeed," the bear chuckled from his scratched, scarred throat. "Now, I shall be taking you into Nottingham, where you will be thrown in jail and executed. In fact, I may convince Prince John to give me the executioner's mask."

"If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll bloody get, you goremongering psychopath."

"Oh, come now, my dear lupine friend. We must not resort to calling each other names." The bear took up a ready stance. "Let us have at it, then."

Nick raised his gun and pumped a bullet into the arm of a third archer, locking onto the deltoid with pinpoint accuracy. He quickly spun and hit the remaining archer in the head. Fake blood spattered as the lanky greyhound toppled into a muzzle plant in the dusty trail. The three rhinoceros who once were protected by archers now looked at Nick like he was the Devil. The bear, though, merely shrugged a little.

"If you're a true and honest fox, you'll fight with a blade, not that," he growled.

"Let me handle this," Robin commanded, an air of valiance about him as he unsheathed his own sword. " A fight, then. _But_...if I win, you let us go."

"Fair enough. Though If I emerge the victor, you submit, and I take you with me to Nottingham's dungeons."

"Shall we?"

"Indeed, we shall."

Nick saw the humongous chunk of edged steel fly towards him, and he bent backwards to avoid having his muzzle ripped in two at the jaw. The wind around his nose whistled, and he felt the force behind the weapon blowing violently against his cheek. He came back up just in time to see Robin meet the bear's force with frightening ferocity, apparently undaunted by the gigantic foe.

"Commendable," the bear smirked maliciously. "But hardly your best."

Robin gave a primal growl.

"I left death in the Holy Land," he retorted.

"And yet you are the reason why Prince John hangs villagers. Those who support you in Nottingham are soon executed for helping an enemy of the state."

Robin broke free of the deadlock, spinning around and bringing his sword down upon the bear just as the latter swung his massive sword up. Sparks clashed against each other, projecting echoes of struggle onto the combatants' muzzles.

"Untimely executions by a corrupted leader will be atoned for, but greed and profit have _no_ place in law!" Robin shouted.

Nick could only watch as the bear tilted his greatsword, forcing Robin to bring his own sword down towards the ground. As soon as his opponent had lost his balance, the shining hilt of the greatsword was jabbed up into the fox's chin. Robin yelped, staggering back and visibly losing his grip on the sword. The bear leaped, his sword arm drawn back as if his weapon was a spear. Nick reacted on impulse; the rifle was snapped into his shoulder and trained on the bear, firing off a well-placed shot at the bear's neck before the shooter had time to register what had happened.

Robin dive-rolled out of the way of the fuzzy new doorstop, clearing himself from danger. The once-mighty bear crashed into the ground, jiggling a bit as he landed with a force that may as well have been an earthquake. Nick felt an immense sense of pride; he cracked a smile and nodded approvingly, holding the rifle with one paw and placing the other paw on his hip.

" _What was that?!_ " Robin cried out.

Nick looked around; the other rhinoceros had fled, probably with their tails between their legs. "What?" he asked. "We've got the gold, and no one's hurt!"

"You may have little chivalry in your world, Nicholas, but never, _ever_ disrupt a duel!" Robin pointed his sword threateningly at Nick as he talked, and the latter raised his weapon in response, heart pounding. The miffed vulpine seemed to calm himself, some of the tension leaving his muzzle.

Little John stepped in. "When you enter a fight against another animal, Nick, you must honor the nature of mano-a-mano combat. If one side interferes with the other in any way, the offender must accept defeat."

Robin cast a look at the fallen bear. "You didn't honor the duel, Nicholas. Now I have no choice but to be captured and transported back to Nottingham."

"Or not, mate."

Nick looked over at Wolford with an arched eyebrow. "Yeah? How so?"

"Well, we could— just— run— away," Wolford replied in a voice that feigned both hesitancy and uncertainty.

"Did you not hear what I _just_ said? I am bound to the honor of the duel. There can be no alternative; I _must_ adhere to the conditions he set."

Nick spoke before he thought. "And so do I."

It was Robin's turn to give an inquisitive look. "What?"

"I shot Tweedle-Dum. _I'm_ the one who broke the rules. If anything, _I_ should have to pay the price."

"Absolutely not. The dungeons are no place for you."

"I can handle it, trust me. I've seen the other side of a jail cell a few times."

"Wilde, I'm with Hood on this one. Let him take the blame for this."

"No. In case you forgot, Wolford, the whole reason we're _here_ is to make sure _he_ —" Nick indicated Robin. "—doesn't get offed."

"Fine, Nicholas." Robin nodded his head. "You can go in my stead."

" _Thank_ you."

" _But_...I refuse to let you go it alone. Which is why I'm going with you."

Nick threw his paws up in exasperation. "What did I _just_ finish saying?"

"I'm more than capable of handling myself in the dungeons. You, though, have never seen a single stone of it. Consider me your personal guardian."

"So it's up to me and John to bust you two out?" The way Wolford said it, it was more of a statement than a question.

"I look forward to the challenge, my canine friend," Little John replied with a smile. "Mix and mingle, why not? Nick spends time with Robin, I spend time with you. You know...get to know each other better," he finished in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Fair enough," Nick sighed, turning to Robin. "Let's go turn ourselves in."


	12. Apprehension

Nick couldn't shake the feeling that their plan had worked too well.

Not a single guard was trying to approach them. In fact, each time he cast a glance at the odd law enforcement uniform, he got the back end of an averted stare of uncertainty. His second entrance into Nottingham was shaping up to be not triumphant, but...perhaps underwhelming was the word. Villagers did the same as the guards, pretending to progress through their lives as if nothing had happened, staring only when they thought Robin's wizard fox relative was paying them no attention; those who were unlucky enough to meet the eyes of the dictator-despising mage quickly looked at the ground or otherwise into the sky, hoping to appear indifferent.

"Less than sixteen hours and I've turned this place into a ghost town," he said.

"What are you talking about? There are no ghosts here. I should know."

"'Ghost town' as in 'really, really quiet,' Robin."

"Oh."

Nick's ears picked up only ambience: leaves rustling in the soft morning wind, Otto's hamer clanging against steel, the weary footsteps of the peasant class. Not so much as a cough or the clearing of a throat could be heard.

"I'm guessing you guys don't have a lot of parties," he said to Robin.

"No, we don't, I'm sorry to say." Robin's features hardened. "Prince John ensures the poor have no means to enjoy life."

"You'd love Zootopia."

"Really?" Nick treated himself to the sight of Robin giving him a skeptical look. "I thought Zootopia was a myth, a society that could never exist, a place where no one dies."

" _It's a place where no one dies….It's a place where no one cries…._ " Nick sang. "Sorry, what? Oh, yeah. It's here. Well, it's 'here' — this is 1207?" Nick did the math in his head. "It's 'here' 569 years in the future. Sure, it's not a myth, not an impossible dream, but animals kill and die just like any other society. We just...have a government system that works effectively. Some of the time. Mostly, the bigwigs are out for money and self-benefit. The orangutan we just elected into office is a perfect example of that. But I'm not gonna get political."

"It sounds much nicer than Nottingham as it is right now," Robin muttered.

"Hey, come on!" Nick put his arm around Robin. "That's why we're _here_! There's history to be made, and we're gonna make it!"

Robin nodded. "If—" He started, then stopped, appearing hesitant. "If we succeed...if we live through this...I'd like to spend a day in Zootopia. Just one day."

Nick smiled. "Of course, Robin. If we can swing it, I'll bring you back."

Robin clasped Nick's shoulder. "Thank you, Nicholas."

Nick held his smile for one last second, then began to look around. "What does it take to get arrested around here? Jeez!"

"Pretty much anything you do will put you in prison."

"Yeah, but I was kinda hoping for some suggestions."

Robin inhaled. "I don't really know. Robbing is all I do, honestly."

Nick sighed, thinking of possible offenses that could get him canned. Then he felt his muzzle light up as he raised his paw in the air and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"The taxes in Nottingham are too unfair! Prince John is nothing but a greedy brute and exemplifies all the qualities of a weak, unfit leader!"

He was attracting attention, that was for sure; peasants and guards alike were looking at him, watching his every move, but no one dared approach him. Nick lowered his paw and groaned, leaning towards Robin and muttering.

" _Really_?" he mock-griped. "Direct insults and they won't do anything about it."

Robin leaned in. "Well, I don't encourage violence and physical attacks, but I suppose brawling with a guard would get you thrown in the dungeons rather quickly."

"All right, well, now all I need is a guard that's willing to get a paw in the muzzle." Nick searched for a viable candidate. There. An unsuspecting victim had just turned the corner and was walking on the other side of the street. Nick grinned.

"Well, hold my beer and watch this," he remarked before breaking into a full sprint at the greyhound. In four steps, Nick had closed the distance enough that he mustered up the confidence to leap into the air, soaring in what seemed like slow-motion at the guard. The helpless canine turned around to see what was going on, his eyes, grew wide, and before he could get out even the slightest hint of a scream, Nick felt the impact. He threw his arms out and wrapped them around each other so tightly that he thought he would snap his target in two. His nose rammed into the guard's side, acting as a harpoon that shoved his victim stumbling backwards. Nick braced himself for the ground as it rushed to greet him; the guard got stuck between rock and assailant as his attacker slammed him into the ground. The fox scrambled to his feet.

"Come on!" he yelled to the town. "Arrest me!"

"Oi!" someone yelled. Nick whipped around to see an archer drawing his bow. "Get off him!"

"I already _am_ , Tweedle-Dum!" he taunted in his best Mr. Big impression, slapping his breasts with his paws in two great thumps before throwing them out in a jeering shrug. "You wanna piece'a me? This'a time, it's-a personal!"

Something barged into his ankle, and he felt gravity shift as his vision turned to the sky.

"Son of a—"

It was all he got out before the back on his head slammed into the ground. Three guards rushed him, including the one he attacked. A paw connected with the side of his muzzle, and his neck cracked as his head was jerked to the right. Someone rolled him over, and he inhaled a noseful of dirt, dust fragments sticking to his wet nose.

"Try and fight us, eh? We'll show you a lesson."

Nick bit back the urge to say "it's _teach_ you a lesson, brainiac" and instead shifted his head to the side. He saw Robin being placed in cuffs, just like him. The guard slapped the freedom-fighting swindler in irons, then produced a sack. Without hesitating, he threw the sack over Robin's head and grabbed a chain big enough to surround Robin's neck.

Nick's vision was gone, and the smell of natural fibers hit him like a freight train. Something snapped around his neck, something big, like a collar. Then a sharp stab to the back of his head. Everything went black.

* * *

"Well, great."

Nick couldn't keep himself from sarcasm as he looked about the small cell he and Robin has been thrown in. "It smells. It smells really bad." He threw his paw up to his nose, pinching it.

"That's because there are so many things that grow down here. Moulds and the like."

"Yeah, well, I'm getting blood and fire."

Robin's ears flattened and his muzzle fell into a solemn trance. "I was hoping you hadn't picked up on that."

"Why?" A rush of fear gripped Nick by the shoulders and shook him furiously. "What's gonna happen?"

"You're getting smells from the torture chambers. Prince John's preferred plaything. Most of the money he spends sees itself traded to expand upon his theater of pain."

Nick couldn't keep his frightened soul from taking control of his voice. "W—what do they do to us?"

"If we're lucky, only a few cuts and burns."

"And if we're unlucky?"

Robin gave a grave look. "If we're unlucky, we pray to the Father God that He will take pity on us."

Nick gulped as nonchalantly as he could, trying to cover his fear with confidence. "Okay. Okay, scratches and heat strokes. I can handle that. Mr. Big's put me through worse."

"Mr. Big?" Robin cocked his head.

"Mob boss, a guy with whom I have an unpleasant history with. One time, he actually had Kevin — one of his bodyguards — break in his new driving club while the tee was in my mouth. Bear's got a monster follow-through, I'll give him that much. At least it wasn't a nine iron…"

"Well, whatever he's done to you, it doesn't compare to the vile things that Prince John will force upon us."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Eisenhower," Nick quipped, the thoughts of agonizing torture planted firmly in his mind like the looming shadow of a foe long thought dead. "All right," he said to himself, nodding his head to add further conviction to his self-administered placebo. "I can do this, I can do this. Nothing to it. Just a few right hooks, a couple little slices, maybe a branding iron or two…" He sighed uncertainly and looked up at the stone ceiling that sported strands of spiderwebs and hanging moss. "Should we break out?"

"No. Too much of a risk. There are far too many guards."

"So what's the ETA for our executions?"

"Not sure," Robin muttered. "He doesn't seem to like the circumstance, though. I'd guess he'll want to make it soon."

"How soon?"

"Two days from now at the latest, I'd say."

Nick nodded; even if they did have to wait two more days, they would have almost half a week to bring Prince John down. And if they could form a strategy while behind bars, it would be even easier to fix things up nicely for King Richard's return. "What's the plan after we make our escape?"

"Nicholas, have you ever heard the phrase, 'such a thing as too many questions?'" Robin sounded sincere, but a hint of impatience gnawed at the back of his voice.

"Yeah," Nick replied, a little ashamed. "Sorry." He twitched his tail, a little bored. He had nothing to entertain himself with but the clothes he wore and the various bloodstained rocks and debris that littered the jail cell; he began looking around what lay outside of his cage. An overpopulated key ring hung beside the massive wooden door, dangling by a hook hammered into the wall. A few torches feebly hurled traces of light against the cold, hard stones.

The first words of a verse found their way to his mouth in melody. He could feel his foot tapping with the slow, soulful rhythm; his throat vibrated with song as the voice he had spent so long refining somehow lifted his spirits in the face of pain beyond belief.

"What are you singing?" Robin asked, jerking Nick from his trance.

"It's something I used to sing when I had nothing better to do." Nick closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Felt kind of right to sing it now."

"Well, don't let me stop you," Robin said, folding his paws behind his head and closing his eyes. "You've got a nice voice."

"Thanks," Nick replied sheepishly. He waited for something to keep him from singing, anything; when he was happy with the silence, he began again.

"Oi, what's the idea?!"

Nick stopped again; apparently, one of the prison's other guests wasn't too keen on his voice.

"Stop singin', will ya?!"

"Hope in the darkness not your kind of thing, then?" Nick called out in a calm, fascinated voice.

"Get out of Nottingham!" the angry peasant yelled. "No one wants you here!"

"What is it gonna take to get them on our side?" Nick asked Robin in a low voice. "No, you know what? How'd we push them off our side in the first place?"

"Prince John has probably seen to it that their lives will now be worse than when it was only me and LIttle John," Robin answered bitterly. "Higher taxes, perhaps, stricter laws, so on and so forth. And…" He looked around, then went through with his sentence. "If two strangers showed up and began causing problems, I wouldn't be particularly keen to like them, eh?"

Nick met Robin's eyes; he could feel some kind of unpleasantness radiating behind them. "Do you not like us?"

Before Robin could reply, the jail cell shrieked, and the door swung open. Nick spun around just in time to get a muzzle full of hoof as a guard grabbed him and lifted him to his feet in one swift, painful move; he could see another guard making his way towards Robin.

"So, my vulpine test subjects," came Prince's John's voice, "let's have fun, shall we?" He chuckled cruelly.

"Take them to the torture room."

* * *

"Welcome to the most excruciatingly macabre devices ever devised throughout the whole of time!"

Nick recoiled instinctively as the door to the torture chamber opened sluggishly, pushed from its slumber by a guard. Tables were slaughtered by blood and instruments of pain, wooden boards hung from the ceiling sported chains and dried blood on their rotting bodies. Fires burned in different places, charring the ground around them. The stench of blood and burned fur allied with the odors of death, mold, and damp to smack him in the nose, to bid him run. Prince John turned around to present his playthings to them.

"Behold, the last things you'll ever see," he said, holding his paws out in gesture. "Except, of course, the bag over your head when we execute you."

Nick found himself giving little resistance, but he had no intention on letting them carve him open. He kept walking. The guard did nothing but march him towards his fate, and he gripped all of the courage in his body.

"I plan on seeing the sun one last time." Nick savored the opportunity for a witty punch line and took his chance to escape.

A well-placed foot to the toes sent the guard crying in pain. Nick spun around and began to attack him while he still posed no threat, holding his foot.

Something warm and meaty locked itself around his throat and squeezed. Nick grabbed at the slimy thing and choked, falling to his knees. His vision began to blur as a snake poked its green head into view.

"We mustn't make a ruckusss," he tutted. "Princcce John will be most displeasssed."

Nick felt the snake let go; he gasped and coughed on the floor, recovering from the death grip his foe had used to subdue him. A pair of paws grabbed his shoulders and thrust him up. Nick felt the board hit him in the back, and he bared his teeth as the guards chained him to the wood. One guard pulled out a knife and cut open his garment, leaving him bare-chested on the bloody boards.

"Thank you, Sir Hiss. Now," Prince John started, walking leisurely about the room. "I understand that you have taken it upon yourselves to remove me from power."

Nick watched as Robin was restrained to the board opposite him andrelieved of his own garment. "Well, I'd hardly sum up our endeavors as a leisurely strollling crusade through the village."

Prince John chuckled. "I see you resort to masking fear with humor. No matter." He inspected a table of ancient tools, picking up what seemed to be a pawheld scythe and turning it over pensively. "We'll see how long it takes for a laugh to become a scream."

Nick heard Robin give an agitated growl.

"Oh, threaten as much as you want, my old enemy," Prince John chuckled. "We'll make a whimpering kit out of you yet."

Nick pulsed all of his strength into his wrists, hoping desperately to hear the snap of wood, the shearing of metal. He gave an unintended grunt of effort. One of the guards must have heard him, because the next thing he felt was a fist in the stomach and a snort of warm air.

"Please don't try to escape," Prince John requested in a voice that was calm as ever. "Then we'd have to kill you on sight, and, well...we mustn't deprive the audience of a public execution, would we?"

Nick coughed to catch his breath, his vision blurred by the impact. His restraints felt tighter than ever. He felt his head barking orders at his body, yelling at him to get out of danger's wide path. He watched Prince John step ever closer to him, gripping a knife in a casual but firm manner.

"Now, I don't want you to look too wounded when you step out in front of the village," he began. "But by no means does that mean we can't have some sort of entertainment." He brought his face right up to Nick's, who felt the blade of the knife brush against his arm.

Prince John spun around. "So!" He threw the knife at the table that housed the rest of his playthings, and the thunk of penetrated wood echoed in the dungeon. "I think we'll play a game of my own invention."

Before Nick knew what was happening, the prince had grabbed Robin by the ear and placed the knife dangerously close to his shoulder.

"Robin," he began. "Which would you deem the lesser of two evils: suffering a cut on the shoulder or…" The deranged lion slowly turned his head to look at Nick.

Nick's heart leapt up in his throat, and he could hear himself start breathing much louder.

"...administering another swift punch to the stomach of your friend here?"

Robin stayed silent, his eyes full of anger as they bored holes into Prince John's soul.

"Robin, don't be stupid." Nick spoke before he thought, his calm, cool voice taking him by surprise. "Don't be the nice guy. I can take a punch."

Robin nodded in acknowledgment. Nick focused on him, forced himself to see his ancestor's every move. The thief licked his teeth in thought. Then, with what looked like determination that spread through his entire body, he met Prince John's gaze and said, "Do it."

Nick's heart spiked as he watched the knife slide across Robin's left shoulder, coaxing a tiny stream of blood from his new wound. He heard a stifled grunt of pain, saw his ancestor's jaw grind against his teeth. The blade rolled off Robin's shoulder, leaving a trail of red behind it, as its victim gasped in pain and relief.

"Robin, don't be the hero." Nick chose his words carefully. "Do the least amount of damage possible. Show me some fox-level craftiness, huh?!"

"No talking to each other, my dear Nicholas," Prince John tutted, waving the now bloody knife. "You must make the decision on your own. Now, it's your turn. Which is the lesser of two evils: cutting the other shoulder of your criminal ally, or…" He picked up a tapered whip with teeth-like appendages. "Receiving three lashes with this whip?"

Nick didn't like the look of the whip that might be used against him, and he opened his mouth to say, "Cut." But something stopped him. How deep had Robin been cut? What did his blood loss rate look like? "Before I answer you, answer me. I wanna know how quick Robin's gonna bleed out if—"

"Oh, poor Nicholas, that simply is _not_ how the game is played." Prince John pointed the whip at him, then to Robin. "Nothing can influence your choice but your own mind. Though I will say this…" He laughed evilly. "I wouldn't _dream_ of taking Robin's life quickly."

Nick couldn't stop himself from hyperventilating. The pressure was too great, the consequences too cruel. He couldn't choose for fear of self-hate; his mind yelled at him to take the fall for Robin as Robin had for him, but his natural instinct pleaded for mercy, begged to be spared from the whip's menacing hooks. They wrestled for control of his mouth, his silently moving mouth. Tears blurred his eyes and his composure.

His voice was found. His choice was made, but not by him. He heard not what he had said; his mouth had flipped a coin announced the result. His senses had take leave in the emotional turmoil of this sick, twisted game. Nick said nothing, but began breathing slowly and heavily in a time-honored response to pure uncertainty.

"Well! An interesting decision, would you not say, Nicholas?" Prince John's eyes lit up with delight. "Well done."

Horror flooded Nick's mind when he saw the demented ruler pick up the knife again. "Damn it, Robin, I'm sorry!" he yelled, looking at the righteous thief through teary eyes. "I wasn't thinking about it!"

"It's only natural, Nicholas," Robin shouted. "I understand!"

Nick caught movement out of the corner of his eye; the poof of a flame blew softly against his ears. He followed his prodigal fox senses and snapped his attention to the curling fire of a newborn torch. Prince John was holding it gleefully in his knife-void paw.

"Let us make things interesting, shall we?" He brought the knife above the torch, turning it over and moving back and forth across the flames.

"No!" Nick yelled, once again hacking away at his fetters as best he could. If he could free himself and incapacitate the hostile environment, he could get Robin out of the knife's way. But the bonds would give no chance of escape, of safety; Nick had no option but to submit to the cold, dead steel and rotting wood, hanging limply as if from a cross.

The light shifted. Nick heard the torch being placed in a brazier. He looked up to see Prince John holding the knife perilously near Robin's nose.

"Now, you'll feel a slight pain in your shoulder," he said. Robin merely stared him down.

The knife touched its target again. Robin screamed in pain as the hot metal sauntered its way through his flesh, sending another trickle of blood running down his bare chest. Nick closed his eyes and prayed for salvation, for silence, for the end of this horrid game.

Robin stopped screaming, and instead began panting in exhaustion. Nick opened his eyes. Prince John was inches from his nose.

"Jesus!" He jerked back in fear.

"I do hope you haven't been weeping," Prince John sneered. "That would be a waste of good suffering."

"I swear, the next time we're puttin' knives to each other, I'm painting the ground red with your blood," Nick spat in an attempt to provoke his captor.

Prince John leaned in. "My dear fox, before midday tomorrow, you'll be gasping for your last breaths in—"

Nick lashed out: he gave a growl of anger and opened his mouth, sporting his sharp teeth. He felt his tongue touch the lion's fur, and he clamped his jaw down as hard as he could. Hot, fresh, salty blood washed over his mouth as he felt his teeth sink through muscle and tendon, ending their journey at Prince John's clavicle. Nick took the bone between his teeth and jerked his head around primally, trying to loose it from its fleshy dwelling place. He heard nothing but his own vicious snarling and growling. He hadn't sounded this savage since Bellwether shot him with a blueberry, since he had pretended to kill Judy.

Judy...He hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye….

A punch to the stomach forced him to let go of Prince John's shoulder. He spat out the stray bits of fur, blood, and meat that had left their old body and voyaged to their assailant's mouth. His lips curled into a growl. Blood dripped off his chin. The prince was clutching at his shoulder and screaming. Nick looked over to Robin, who was watching the scene in horror. He licked some of the blood off his lips, meeting Robin's disgusted gaze with a glare of intense concentration.

" _Put them back in the cell!"_ Prince John screeched. "We'll do much worse than hang them! Ahhh! Mommy!" He started sucking his thumb.

A pair of rough paws clapped metal on Nick's head; someone was muzzling him. He started to thrash his head around yet again. This time, though, he was the prey, not the aggressor. He fought and fought, wildly moving whatever parts of his body he could move, but the deed had been done. The muzzle dug into his face, biting his skin. His brain flashed back to Ranger Scouts, and he heard a whimper leap out of his mouth as his bonds were loosened.

He'd have given anything to be back home.


	13. The Night Before

Power chord. Pinch harmonic. Alt picked sixteenths. Nick ran through the song in his head as he translated it to his paws, gracing Robin with all the sweet sounds of an air guitar. Luckily, the ancient warrior paid no attention to his fiddling, and seemed to be perfectly content as he inspected a rock. Nick watched him as he turned the stone over. His eyes were absolutely focused on it. He maneuvered it about his paw with utmost care, almost as if it were his own child. Nick stopped right in the middle of a solo and broke the silence between them.

"So what's so fascinating about that rock, huh, Rob?"

Robin responded by merely turning the stone over again and holding up his free paw. Nick understood and heeded his wishes, falling silent. Robin gave the rock a stare, then a confused look, and finally, a forlorn gaze that captivated Robin's poetically diverse eyes. A sneeze shook his head, forcing his snout to fly around wildly and his ears to flap against his muzzle like angry birds.

"Bless you," Nick said absentmindedly, years of reciting the same meaningless acknowledgement taking over his conscience.

"God."

Nick tilted his head. "What?"

"It's ' _God_ bless you,'" Robin murmured, still focused on the rock.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Forgot you were religious." Nick winced. It had sounded much better in his head, and now he may have offended his only ally in this prison of pain. Robin seemed unaffected by it, however, and Nick let go of his breath. The thief looked up from his rock.

"This rock is unlike any other I've ever seen. It's quite remarkable, actually." He held it out like it was a cookie. "Here. Take a look."

Nick took the rock from Robin's paw and slowly brought it down to eye level. It had spots, a few splotches of color thrown in between the gray and grainy white, but he could see nothing special or interesting about it. "Rob, it's just a rock. You sure your mushroom stock's not funny?"

"Look closer."

Nick rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous," he replied as he squinted at the rock. "Nothing—"

Then he stopped. For a second, he thought he saw...but no. That couldn't be. Could it? He turned the stone around, trying to find the angle he had just witnessed. There! Its profile was shaped like a fox's head! His surprise must have shown in his expression, because he heard Robin chuckle.

"Do you see it now?" he asked.

"Yeah." Nick looked up at him. "How…?"

"It's one of the many miracles that have been put on this earth. They're all out there. We just have to be quick enough to spot them." Robin held his paw out. "May I?"

"Yeah, sure." Nick put the rock back in his ancestor's grip. Robin took it and put it back on the ground, arranging it in what was apparently some kind of special placement. "Exactly as I left it," he said, almost as if he was proud of doing so. Then he winced, groaning, and grabbed at his right shoulder.

Nick jumped to his feet, ready to help in any way his help was needed. But Robin merely began licking at his wound. Blood was robbed of its chance to fall to the ground as the fox's rough tongue scraped it off his fur. Nick sat back down. Guilt hit him like a freight train, forcing his eyes to stay locked on the ground. "Listen, Robin, for the whole cut thing...I'm sorry. I just...It was the logical thing to do."

He heard footsteps; Robin was walking towards him. He tried making eye contact with the wounded animal, but shame steered his eyes to his tail, which lay still in discomfort. Paws grabbed his shoulders.

"Nicholas. Look at me."

Nick shook his head silently.

The paw on his left shoulder placed itself under his long chin and forced his muzzle up, like a father who just wanted to talk to his son. Robin's face was straight, his demeanor serious.

"Don't _ever_ apologize for doing what you know is the right thing to do."

Nick nodded as best he could with Robin's paw in the way. "Right."

The metal bars of the cell clanged. Nick jumped back, scrambling to his feet.

"Calm down, it's only still nigh'," said the guard at the cell door. "Just a little morsel for y'two before we get t'see ya hung over the village square, eh?" He gave a crooked grin and tossed something at Nick. The fox instinctively snapped at the projectile with his paw, stopping its aerial endeavor. The thing left a painful stinging sensation in Nick's palm as he looked at what it was. "Bread," he muttered. He tried squeezing it. The bread didn't budge. "Rock hard."

He tossed it to Robin, his appetite suddenly sated.

Robin gave a chuckle, smiling earnestly. "This isn't bread. It's stone. Such fine cuisine fit for a noble, indeed." He shook his head, still chuckling. "No matter. I've been given worse." He began to nibble on it, but from the clacking noises coming from the bread, Nick decided he was just fine without food. Plus, there'd be some good, nutritious food in the forest he could eat once Wolford and Little John set them free.

"Bread, Nicholas?"

Nick looked over to Robin, who was holding out a severed piece of bread. He hesitated a little, but his ancient mentor was quick to motivate him. "Here. Watch." Robin put his own bread between his teeth and placed Nick's piece between his paws, rubbing them together and trapping the mass of carbohydrates between them. "Just rub it, like so. Helps make a bit softer."

He held out the bread.

Nick accepted his share of the hunt this time, doing as Robin instructed: he cranked his paws together, keeping the bread hostage as he pumped energy into it. He felt the tough outer shell of his inanimate foe giving somewhat, and the spongy inside of the dough was quickly returning to its naturally bouncy state. How long he kept at it, he did not know, though he did see the guard move away out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, he stopped, holding the energized food in one paw. He brought it to his mouth and cautiously pierced it with his teeth. It was still firm, but it was edible. "Good enough for me," he mumbled, biting down and tearing a chunk of bread off.

"Did it work?"

Robin's eager voice broke the serenity of the nighttime prison cell. Nick looked over at him, held a finger up in a silent request for the thief to wait for his reply, and swallowed. "Yeah. It's actually digestible now."

"Did I not tell you?" Robin laughed, biting off a piece of his own share.

"Yeah, guess you did." Nick looked over his meal. "Not much of a prisoner's last supper, is it?"

Robin nodded, swallowing. "I've had worse last suppers in this place, believe it or not."

Nick raised an eyebrow.

"In fact, I've been sent to execution with _no_ food in times past."

"Honestly, I don't doubt it." Nick flopped down on his wooden plank. "For a place that uses glorified two-by-fours as beds, I find it easy to believe they starve the prisoners they _really_ don't like." He turned his gaze to the ceiling. "How does the Zootopian standard of prisons compare to this, Rob?"

Robin tilted his head. "I've never been in a Zootopian prison. At least, I don't ever recall spending any time in such a place."

Nick inhaled. "Actually...I kind of lied to you, Robin. You remember back when you asked me if you were in a dungeon, and I said no?"

"Yes," Robin confirmed, his voice slow and uncertain.

"Well…" Nick hesitated. "You were actually in a jail cell. For your own protection."

"What?"

"Listen, in Zootopia, the law enforcement has procedures to follow so everyone wins. You were new to the land, and we didn't want you wandering off somewhere and get hurt by a criminal. We didn't know what to to, so we put you in the safest place we could find."

Nick heard nothing in reply. "Rob? Are you okay?" He looked over in concern.

Robin looked almost heartbroken. "Why would you lie to me?" he asked, pure confusion welded to his voice.

"I...I don't know," Nick sighed. Guilt had struck him like a sledgehammer. He felt tears welling in his eyes. "I just...I was thinking in the moment, I assumed you were going to try and break free if I told you, I just...It seemed like it was better for all of us."

"But lying is a sin, Nicholas. Surely you know that."

"Of course I do, I only…" Nick sighed again; how would he put it? "You see this world around you? With all the brokenness and sin?"

"Who wouldn't see it?" Robin replied. "Murder and lies and harlots…" He cast a sad gaze upon the ground.

"Zootopia is notorious for sin. We were second in line for the title of 'Sin City.' I'm a cop, right? I get calls all the time — assaults, domestic violence, suicide, murder, drunkenness, prostitution, drugs. The year we left Zootopia, there had been about two hundred and seventy-six homicides. _That_ _year_. It was September. Killings outnumbered the days in the year that had passed." Nick closed his eyes and thought about what he was going to say. "So...that's why I didn't want to tell you the truth. If you had escaped the police station, that's what was waiting for you. If you die, I'd never —" He paused; he almost said "I'd never have existed," which would have definitely raised flags in Robin's head. "- forgive myself." He opted for an ashamed, droopy head, with fallen ears and unmoving tail.

He waited for the response, not sure what to expect from his ancestor. The seconds passed by in his head, what few of them there were. Something moved. He dared not look up. His guilt kept his eyes on the stones below him. Footsteps came closer to him. Nick braced himself for the worst.

But the worst did not come. Nick felt himself being pulled to his feet; Robin's arms wrapped themselves around him and lifted his rear off the prisoner's cot. His first instinct was to try and break free, but realized it wasn't a lustful gesture.

"I love you like a brother, Nicholas," came Robin's voice. "Thank you."

Nick went to slap Robin's shoulder twice, a practice well-drilled into his head by his own society. Halfway through the trip to Robin's back, though, he switched tactics and managed to hug Robin exactly as Robin had done to him.

"Don't mention it, Robin."

He felt the wizened fox loose his grip. Nick did the same, effectively ending their displays of affection simultaneously.

"Well," Robin remarked. "Suppose we should get some rest, eh? I wouldn't want be tired while I'm hanging from the gallows."

Nick chuckled. "Yeah. I want to look nice when I stare the grim reaper down, too." He clambered back onto his bed. Turning on his side, he caught one last view of Robin leaping up and mantling his own stallion of sleep before his drowsy eyelids dropped like iron curtains and plunged him into a peaceful darkness.

* * *

 _Judy Hopps refused to stop crying. Tears poured down her muzzle, a newborn rain streaking through a gray canopy and dropping all the way down to the hardwood forest floor. Her ears, her massive, curving ears sagged with sorrow. They could hear every jolting sob that screamed through her teeth. Her head rattled with each anguished noise that jumped out of her throat. Her eyes, blurred and blinking in agony, stared down at the framed picture of Nick. He looked perfect. Not a speck of dirt, not a crease flawed his officer's uniform. He cradled his hat firmly, but loosely. His brow was raised in determination and confidence, and his teeth ever so slightly poked through his charming smile. Teardrops crashed against his chin and rolled down his chest, blurring his features._

 _Judy set the wooden frame down on the table with trembling paws. She took a deep breath, trying to suppress her sorrow. Her paws hit the floor as she stood and carried herself over to her bed. It felt small, smaller than usual. Thank God the neighbors were out on holiday, or they'd be yelling at her for making too much noise._

 _Her ears perked up. Something was vibrating against the table. Her phone! She leaped off her bad and dashed to it, hoping to see Nick's name, and the selfie he took with her—_

 _The phone read "Mom and Dad."_

 _Judy's spirits fell, but only a little, as she pushed the green button on her phone and held it to her ear. "Hey!" she said, trying to keep her sadness under the radar._

" _Hey, Jude," her father's nervous voice came. "H-how you holding up?"_

" _I'm okay." Even she didn't think it sounded convincing._

" _Judy, I know that tone," her father prodded, almost scoldingly. "You're not okay, are you?"_

" _I just…" She took a big, shaky breath and let it out in a mourning sigh. "They've been gone for two weeks now. I - I don't know what's happened to him, and no one's seen a trace of him since—" She couldn't help herself; she burst into tears again._

" _Judy, it's Mom." Her mother's soothing voice took control of the situation. "Nick's a good guy, hon. He might be a fox, but he loves you. He'd never disappear for this long on purpose. Whatever's going on, it's not his fault."_

" _I know, but...but I still miss him." Judy sniffled, wiping her nose with her finger._

 _A sigh came through from the other end. "Judy...when he comes back, you know he's going to make up for this whole thing."_

" _Yeah. I just wish 'this whole thing' had never happened in the first place."_

" _I know, sweetie. I know."_

 _A thick, uncomfortable silence drove a wall between Judy and her mother. Finally, she could hear her someone fumbling with the phone._

" _Jude, it's Dad again," came her father's calm, encouraging voice. "Whenever you need our help, don't think twice about picking up your phone. Y'hear me?"_

 _Judy chuckled. "Yeah, Dad, I gotcha."_

" _Okay. See you later, hon." In the background, Judy heard her mother yell, "Bye, Judy!"_

" _Love you guys. Bye." Judy let her ear breathe, pressing the red button on the screen. Slowly, silently, she lay it on the table, an air of defeat suffocating her. She turned back to get back into her small, green bed. Nick's cocky smile caught her eye, and she couldn't help but pick up the photo and look at him one last time._

 _He was perfect._

 _Setting the picture down, Judy climbed back into her bed, pajamas loosely following her body, and pulled the sheets up to her shoulders, drawing them close to her neck. A single tear fell onto the pillow, but no sob announced its presence._

" _God, Nick…" she whispered. "Come back already."_

* * *

 _Clang-clang-clang!_

Nick snapped his head up at attention, his half-awake brain trying to figure out what was going on. A single guard, with his sword drawn, was banging on one of the bars of the prison door. His face twisted into a vile, toothy grin.

"Well, now that you're all up, I say it's high time we see what you're made of."

Nick groaned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with his pawpads. No witty replies came to him, and he stayed silent. He looked up. Robin's tail was still limply hanging off to the side of his cot. The bandit must still be asleep.

"Hey," Nick whispered, hoping to stir Robin from his stupor. "Hey, Robin, wake up." He thumped the board a few times. The tail twitched. The board creaked. The thief gave a tired yawn. "We're due for die time."

A pair of rust-colored legs dropped themselves off the bed and to the side of Nick's head. They plummeted to the ground, and Robin followed. Nick stood up in response.

"Are you ready, Nicholas?"

Nick held his finger and thumb to his long vulpine chin, rubbing his digits against it. "Let's see. Am I ready to watch someone come up to me with a really lethal-looking thing and send me off to Valhalla? Not quite sure. Real stumper, that one."

"Vol-hall-ah?" Robin's awkward enunciation of the word forced Nick to bite his tongue in order to keep from laughing. "What's that?"

"I don't know," Nick lied. "Just some random word I made up."

"Well, well."

Pure terror raced through his blood; anywhere but here was where Nick wanted to be. The chilling, brutal voice was back, and the savage, scarred body that accompanied it had returned, too. Its one good eye bored into him, clawing at his heart as its mouth chuckled, showing a set of sharp, yellow teeth.

"Our two guests of honor," he leered grotesquely. "I suppose this should be a rather unfortunate event for you. It is, after all, the end."

"And why do I get the feeling that today isn't gonna be the last time I see you?" Nick somehow felt cocky in the face of pure evil. How or why, he knew not; all he felt was courage.

The bear merely chuckled again. "We will see, fox. We will see." He gestured to the lock. "Open it up and escort them to the square."

A lowly-looking guard shuffled to the iron door, nervously flipping a mass of keys about the large ring that housed them before finally grabbing one and inserting it into the lock. The door gave a huge clank before swinging open, bidding Nick to walk through. Robin turned back, looking at his lineage as if uncertain of the cop's mental state.

"Are you all right, Nicholas?" he asked.

Nick snorted, smiling. "I don't think there's _ever_ a time when someone's truly ready to die."

Robin nodded solemnly, absolutely quiet. Nick took a deep, steady breath. "Okay," he said in a low voice, hoping no one could hear him. "Here we go."


	14. Leave Me A Little Wiggle Room, Huh?

"The most wanted criminals in Nottingham, and you guys can't do any better than this wooden rot pile?"

Nick was on the edge of chafing as the bumpy prisoner's carriage clanked its way towards the center of the village. _I'd kill for a nice change of the undergarments right about now._ He took in a big whiff of oxygen and let it out slowly, but soundly.

"They do not see us as their fellow animals, Nicholas." Robin gazed out at the forest, eyes scanning everything they could. "To them, we are less than dirt."

"Yeah, well, size matters not, hm?" Nick muttered.

A paw brought its chained wrist gently down on his shoulder. Nick turned to see Robin looking at him with a some sort of fearful kindness in his eyes.

"You'll be all right, Nicholas," he reassured. "We'll both be all right."

"Yeah," Nick said shortly, a hint of apprehension in his voice. "Yeah, I know. Just..I was kinda hoping they wouldn't make it so unnerving." He sat back against the short bench that had been built into the cart, his ears twitching with worry at every sound. In the back of his head, he'd always wanted to figure out what it felt like to be hanged. Now that he was faced with the raw threat of death, he'd give anything to go back to Zootopia. Back to his invigorating police work, where he wasn't on the wrong side of the law. Back to his cozy two-story, where he could eat meat substitutes and satiate the primal bloodthirst that was slowly building up inside of him. Back to Judy, where he could find solace, comfort, affection...love.

"That's good, Nicholas," Robin said softly. "I can see it in your eyes. An animal's last thoughts should be of home and of friends and family. Keep thinking of your home, Nicholas. You'll find peace soon."

Nick gave a few small nods, not truly understanding what Robin has told him; he was still focused on Judy, focused on her perfect, purple eyes, her massive, flappy ears, her warm, soft touch…

"Oi, quit purring back there," the driver commanded. Nick snapped back to earth. They were here.

The entire village had amassed to watch their deaths. Guards practically lined the outskirts of the huddle, boxing in the captive audience. The look on each innocent muzzle turned to the clanky carriage, and a collective gasp of shock and fear rose from the ragged, gaunt animals. Cries of outrage jabbed through the murmurs and whispers, cursing John and his cronies.

"Bastard prince!"

"Vile worm!"

"You greedy, bloodlusting devil!"

Nick gazed up at the platform he expected to be killed upon. But there were no ropes, no supports, no trapdoors through which to fall. Instead, there were two angled tables with straps on them. They were worn down, raw and looked riddled with splinters. No blood stains resided on the deceased timber, but a table of sharp, lethal instruments lay in between the two restraining devices. A shiver of pure fear shot down Nick's spine, and he was overcome with a system-wide virus of panic. He could hear his breath now, loud and fast, as his eyes darted around, desperate for a way out.

That was a mere come-and-go of uncertainty, however, compared to the indescribable horror that dug its emotionally agonizing meat hooks into his head when he saw the mysterious, scarred black bear staring at them. He followed their movement with the look of a raven, grinning evilly as he watched his prey draw ever closer. Robin's paw, apparently sensing discomfort, brushed lightly against his shoulder again in an attempt at calming him.

"Home, Nicholas," Robin said, a bit sternly. "Remember your home."

Right. Just think of home and it'll all be better...Home. Subconsciously, a cascade of memories ravaged the dam of his mind. His mother, struggling to care for her only son, who still wasn't old enough to understand what had happened to his father. The long, hard days of being bullied for his looks. The Ranger Scouts…

The bench jolted; Nick felt his body jump out of the carriage for a split second before slamming back down onto the cold wood. They had made it to the platform. A voice in his head began hissing at him to escape, to gnaw through the rope that bound his arms and run as fast as he could. But Robin's ever-present paw moved yet again to his shoulder, bidding him to stay. Nick's mind froze for the briefest of moments before heeding his elder's guidance. He sat there and allowed the guard to force him out of the wooden chariot of death, trusting that Robin knew what he was doing. As their armed escort poked them towards the execution tables, Nick could hear the villagers changing their tone from hatred of the killer to support for the victims.

"Three cheers for Robin Hood!"

"May you share in the delights of the Lord's holy kingdom!"

"We will spread your legacy to the ends of the earth!"

Nick slipped a little on one of the steps leading up to his platform of death, and the next step rushed to meet him. He felt his jaw grind against his skull as it clacked against the wood. He shook his head to clear his mind, but before he could do anything more, one of the guards hit him in the back with the blunt end of a spear. He cried out in pain and turned on his side, trying to mentally stem the flow of throbbing pain in his spine.

"Get up," he heard his attacker say, grabbing him by the underarm and pulling him to his feet. His back started griping and he let out another groan, suddenly very much afraid of what true death would feel like.

"Whatever you say, my Queen," he managed to mutter through gritted teeth. The guard, luckily, seemed to have missed the remark.

The threatening royal escort marched them right up to the black bear, the very presence of whom once again roared at Nick's instincts with malice, demanding that he run and hide. The snarling, scarred muzzle bent itself downwards to greet him, and the sheer power of gore-fueled rotten breath made him recoil without hesitation. The guard apparently took his disgust as an attempt at escape, and Nick felt the wooden handle of an axe whack him on the back of the head.

A rough, hulking paw gripped his chin and forced his skull upwards, so that he was looking right into the eye of the barbaric black beast that so repelled him.

"Little Nicholas," he chuckled cruelly. "The newborn of this age. I do hope you've had an acceptable time in Nottingham, but this day, I'm afraid, marks your last breath on this earth."

Nick gritted his teeth, staring back at the bear with all the determination he could muster. His mouth remained shut for fear of vomiting, but he narrowed his eyes in defiance.

The bear allowed himself another laugh, then motioned to the restraints.

"Chain them up," he barked to the guards. One of the canine lackeys took a knife and quickly began sawing through the prisoners' bonds. Nick cherished the sweet relief of blood flow to his paws, but his moment of bliss was short as he felt himself being forced against the wooden table. One by one, each of his limbs were violently grabbed, relentlessly slammed against the board, and painfully clamped in the iron fetters. A shout of support thrust itself from the crowd.

It was in that moment that Nick's brain lapsed into mania; oh, nothing was as it seemed, was it? This was all a dream, it was, and an elaborate one. A mere trick of the eyes, a subconscious vision. A laugh jumped from his throat, a jubilant one. Then another. Then a cackle. Oh, what _fun!_ It was like an extreme haunted house, one where you couldn't tell what was truly real! What an elaborate ruse.

"You hear that, Robbie?" he giggled, looking up at the bright blue sky. "They're playing our song!" He started jumping, thrashing his limbs as violently as he could against the chains.

"Oi, sit still."

"Oh, yeah, I'll stop." He paused for a second, then resumed jerking around, calling out in a goofy voice. "Cause you can't tie 'em up when dey wiggul around!"

" _Nicholas!_ " Robin's voice smacked Nick in the face with worry, but he didn't care.

"You want to kill me, why not do it like a man, huh?! Let's see some _fight_ , you savage coc—Aggh!"

The bear's paw connected with his face, sending his cheek smashing into the wood.

" _Quiet!_ " he roared. Nick obeyed, but only for a second.

"No," he repeated. "No, no, no, nononono you're not real youcan'tbereal no no...nonono…"

"Shut...it," the bear growled menacingly.

Nick had no intentions of stopping; he merely quieted his voice and kept speaking.

A torrent of boos and hisses stormed from the audience. He looked around instinctively and quickly saw a royal-looking carriage pushing its way through the crowd, guards keeping the angry peasants from attacking the transport.

"Ooooohhh," Nick muttered insanely. "The tiny little Prince John. Such a wee small animal, isn't he?"

"Use that tongue of yours as much as you wish, fox," the bear hissed evilly. "You'll part with it soon enough."

"Nicholas, calm," Robin whispered. "Everything is all right. Trust Little John."

The carriage had reached the front of the platform. Two guards walked in front of the closed curtains of the cabin, standing regally for their leader. The curtains slid open slowly, majestically. Prince John stepped forward with an intense swagger, waving to the disapproving commoners surrounding him.

"Ah, joyous day!" he proclaimed dramatically. "The end of an infamous outlaw is upon us!"

The crowd responded with a unanimous jeer.

John walked pompously to the steps of the platform, looking about as if his eyes had just opened for the very first time. Nick's heart started beating faster, sensing some kind of excitement fast approaching. He started struggling against his bonds in an attempt to relieve his anxiety.

"Stay calm," Robin reminded him. "We'll be all right."

Each of the guards bowed as Prince John passed them, sweeping as low to the ground as they possibly could. Even the demonic black bear knelt down in his leader's presence, forearm resting on his kneecap.

"Rise," the prince instructed. His massive enforcer stood.

"We are ready to begin," the bear informed Prince John. "With your permission, of course."

"Oh, permission is most certainly granted," Prince John licked his lips maliciously. "I think I'll rather enjoy the smell of death this morning."

"Your voice is music to my ears, as always," his brutish lackey replied. He turned around and scanned the table for his instrument of choice. As he did, Nick heard him talking in a low voice.

"You have no idea how excruciating my methods can be," he began. "I can peel the skin off of any animal, break any bone in a body. I know of the most agonizing areas of each individual anatomy. And I have devoted _centuries_ …" He emphasized the word as if he had thrown a punch as he spoke it. "...of time to finding the best tools for the most agonizing, unbearable deaths. And I mean centuries." He brandished the claw on his index finger, and it began to change. It was black, but it slowly became more and more red, like it was heating up. He cackled. "This should be a nice way to start things off. You'll see my true form soon enough."

"Oh, just kill me now so I don't have to listen to your voice anymore!" Nick burst out, not even sure of where his anger came from. The bear raised an eyebrow.

"As you command," he licked his teeth, raising his terrifying paw.

Something broke and hurtled towards Nick, something red. The bear doubled over. A sharp pain tore through Nick's shoulder, and he belted a scream of agony. He could hear groaning and yelling from his assailant that accompanied his own, but why?

 _Chak!_ The sound of a .50-cal shredded Nick's ears like a mortar. The crowd began to scream, to riot. Nick's eyes snapped to the chaos of thousands of moving bodies, pain shooting through his shoulder. Shrieks and shouts boxed him in. He started to cringe, closing his eyes, struggling against his bonds. The wound in his shoulder jabbed at him with each move he made, but he had to get out, run away from this place, just leave as soon as he could andrunandnotlookbackandnotcarewhatwaschasingafterhim—

His right arm fell in exhaustion, free from its metal cage. He opened his eyes to the smallest of squints, and saw a green-and-brown thing jumping at his restraints.

"Little John?" he asked faintly.

"Hello, Nick," came the cheery reply as the brown bruin moved about the fox's limbs. "Just breaking you out, like I said I would. We only need to take care of that hole in your shoulder when we escape. For now, though, let's just get away from the angry ol' Prince John and his devout followers."

Nick felt the chain on his left paw break, and he landed on two feet, taking care to bend his knees slightly. "Work on Robin," he ordered. "I've got your back."

"Sounds like a plan," Prince John replied with a smile, bequeathing a sword to Nick. "Take this. Be a lot more useful than your bare paws if you get in a swordfight."

"Thanks." Nick took the weapon in his right paw and turned, ready for anyone that may be attacking him. But things seemed the exact opposite: instead of charging the platform to prevent the escape of three lowlife criminals, all of Prince John's forces were running the other direction, barreling into whichever door was closest. Even the devilish-looking black bear was retreating, his massive, slow figure lumbering off without the slightest hint of urgency. Nick lowered his guard. "They're not coming after us."

Little John looked as he untied Robin. "Huh. Fancy that. Big ol' noise scared 'em off, huh? Well, I'm not about to complain. It makes my life a little easier. Come on, Rob!" He broked the last of Robin's chains. "Let's live another day, huh?"

"Absolutely, Little John," Robin smiled as he massaged his wrists. "To the forest, then!"

Nick looked over his wounded shoulder as they hopped off the platform, one final confirmation of freedom from pursuers. No one gave them chase. Still, he wanted no risks taken; his legs burst into a bounding sprint, keeping up with his thieving friends as they rounded a corner. Animals were pouring out of the guards' living barricades, a mass of raging peasants taken advantage of one times too many. Something launched itself out at him from the rioting sea of malnourished poor, and his shoulder screamed at him as he ducked to avoid it.

"Where to?!" he yelled.

"The place we found your box!" Robin called over his shoulder.

"What box?" Then Nick remembered. "Never mind!"

" _Wilde!_ "

Wolford's shout brought Nick to a screeching halt. He looked to the rooftops and caught the canine standing on the tavern. The wolf raised the sniper rifle as far as he could, then tossed it to the ground. Nick jumped back to steer clear of the massive weapon as it hit the ground with a huge thump, bouncing a little as it landed. He turned his attention back to the cop, who was following suit. Panic rushed through his body.

"Wolford!" he warned, but he was too late. The marksman had already landed and rolled to his feet, picking up his .50-caliber scythe with a groan.

"Bloody hell, this got exciting fast," he panted. "Sorry about your—"

Something flew in between them; Nick bent over backwards to dodge it, the second such call within twenty seconds. "What say we talk less, run more, huh?"

"Right behind you."

Nick turned and ran, throwing a paw up and hurling it at Robin and Little John. "Runrunrunrun!" he belted. The two friends heeded him, showing him their tails as they launched their legs in front of them. A cry of rage somewhere off in the distance impaled Nick's ears.

"Robin Hood!" came a follow-up from Prince John. "You'll burn for this!"

Nick couldn't help but laugh. "Cross that one off the bucket list!"

"Nicholas…" Robin started, panting only a little. "What is a 'bucket list?'"

"Less talky-talk, more joggy-jog!" Nick wanted to focus only on running. He jumped over rocks and logs, ducked beneath branches, all in a flash. Robin and Little John ahead of him led the way to safety while Wolford made . The shouts and screams were getting quieter now, mere specks of noise in the distance. Blood was rushing, arms were swinging, shoulder was dripping blood and breath was coming shakily to Nick. This was nothing like the training courses at the academy. Dips and bumps and obstacles that actually hurt when they hit him. Nothing like the ride of his life to put things in perspective. But things looked to be taking a turn for the worse as Robin slowed down, holding his paw up as a gesture for the others to do the same.

"I've...overestimated...my ab...abilities," he heaved, clutching at his right shoulder. "It would seem...this is as far...as I can go." He pulled his paw away and looked down at the blood-stained appendage, wincing.

"Are you okay, Robin?" Nick heard Little John's voice, but he had not a drop of hesitation in his head: in a flash, he had put his own paw on Robin's shoulder in an attempt to staunch the blood. It felt hot, sticky, and he wanted to let go, but he couldn't. His own life depended on this. The hole in his shoulder became jealous, throbbing in pain. Nick was tempted for the briefest of seconds to rip his paw off of Robin's cut and tend to his own, but his brain forced him to keep pressure on his ancestor's clavicle. Robin, though, didn't have the same idea; he goaded Nick's paw off of him.

"It's all right, Nicholas, just a small wound," he assured, putting his own paw on it. "I'll be all right."

Nick backed off. "Okay," he panted, clutching at his still-pumping injury.

"Sorry ab...about your shoulder, mate," Wolford heaved, throwing his rifle on the floor in a grand gesture of exhaustion. "Wind doesn't like bullets, I suppose."

"What?" Nick huffed.

"The bullet…" Wolford swallowed before starting to wheeze once more. "I shot the bear's...finger off...but the...bullet hit your...shoulder."

"You...you mean I've got…a giant metal shard...in my shoulder?"

Wolford shrugged. "Is the wound clean through?"

"I don't know! I don't have...eyes in the back of my head."

Nick cried out in pain; Wolford had grabbed hold of his shoulder, inspecting the wound with shaky paws. Finally, the burning sensation stopped and the wolf came into view, now breathing only a little heavily.

"It's clean through," he said, somewhat relieved. "We just need to cover it."

"Cover it? With what?" Nick looked over to Little John. "Anything we can use to cover this thing up?"

Robin looked over his good shoulder. "If we can get to the hideaway we slept in two nights ago, I think I have some spare bandages. We could use those."

"Oh, while I'm thinking about provisions, we grabbed the second cache while you oh-so-crafty foxes were getting thrown in prison," came Wolford's cynical voice.

"Yeah?" Nick asked. "What was in it?"

Wolford raised his eyebrows for a moment. "Let's just say we won't be going hungry anytime soon."


	15. Recuperation

Nick poured the water into his MRE, wincing a little as his shoulder tilted in just the wrong way. The package heated rapidly, causing him to fumble it a little, finally leaning it against the dirt wall, watching it steam intently. He could smell the rock-bottom-quality cheese flavoring emanating from the bag, nearly wiping out his appetite entirely. It sat there absolutely still, fizzing like an evil poison just waiting to be mistaken for a nutritious evening meal.

"'Meals Ready to Explode' if ever I saw em, Wilde."

Nick looked up into the muzzle of a cocky Wolford. "Well, it's the best we could do, right? I can only take bread and cheese and medieval meat for so long." He cast a glance at the packet. It appeared to be ready. He took it carefully, keeping only the tips of his claws on it so as not to get burned. With his free paw, he took a spoon and dove the food vessel into the bag. He felt something tug on his reel. Somewhat unnerved, he pulled out a few rubbery-looking macaroni shells covered in watery cheese sauce. He immediately held it away.  
"Man, this feels like I'm taking that nasty cough syrup stuff," he griped.

"Yeah, well, you can only take peasant food for so long, right?" Wolford rebounded. "Stop whining, start dining."

Nick hesitantly brought it towards his muzzle, still doubtful it would be satisfactory. In a flash, he transferred the cut-rate military cuisine into his mouth, bracing himself for dry heaving. But it didn't come. Instead, the concoction didn't taste half-bad, even with a fox's hypersensitive tongue judging its every component. He found himself perfectly capable of swallowing it with no problem. He smacked his lips to get rid of the aftertaste, for he still feared it would come back with a vengeance.

"Verdict?" Wolford seemed more curious than anything else.

Nick frowned. "Not bad, but I'd rather eat something that doesn't look so unappetizing."

Wolford chuckled. "Sounds about right," he remarked, walking over to the crate of meals supplied by their sadistic tour guide. "Let's see. Gonna kill myself, might as well make the poison taste good. Mashed potatoes...no thank you….ah!" He brought his paw back up with food in tow. "Steak. Or whatever impostor they could make _taste_ like steak." He ripped the bag open unceremoniously.

The secret opening in the tree slowly slid to the side. Wolford's paw snapped to the sidearm in his shoe. Once green clothes and red fur was visible, though, he relaxed, turning his attention back to the steak he had been so intent on eating.

"How's your shoulder, Nicholas?" Robin asked, hopping down into the sanctuary.

"Better," Nick informed, "but it's still mending."

"Well, any improvement is much needed." Robin swept his hat off his head and scratched at his ears. "With the Lord on our side, I doubt it will take much longer. And with this new haven, we won't be getting many visitors."

" _Ow!_ "

Nick shot a concerned look over at Wolford, who was holding his MRE between finger and thumb and shaking his free paw in an attempt to cool it off.

"They heat up rather quickly, then," he observed. "Ow."

"Yeah, but it's better than hunting for berries," Nick offered, feeding himself yet another spoonful of deceptively digestible cheesy pasta.

"I beg your pardon!" Robin drew himself up, arm thrown proudly across his chest with fist clamped tight around itself in a mock-heroic gesture. "Berry hunting is but the noblest of sports in which an animal may partake!"

Nick laughed. "Well, your sense of humor didn't go away, that's for sure."

"Nicholas, if there's one thing you should know about me, it takes more than a mere cut on the shoulder to silence me." He tilted his head at the MREs curiously. "Well, what are these peculiar packages?"

"Death in a bag, Robin." Nick held his own dinner out for his ancestor to smell. "Care for a taste?"

Robin accepted the meal with little hesitance, taking the spoon and scraping a small bundle of food from it. His facial features brightened a bit as the alien brew passed through his mouth.

"Hmm," he remarked, jaw diligently breaking apart his food. With a swallow, he delivered a verdict.

"It's...much more different than what we have in Nottingham," he remarked.

"I'm not surprised," Nick chuckled. "It takes a lot of chemistry know-how to figure this out."

"Chemistry?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Alchemy."

"But that's witchcraft!"

"It's science, actually, Robin, but I see where you're coming from." Nick rubbed his eyes with his unrestrained paw. "Man, nearly dying is a lot more debilitating than I thought."

"Is this even legal?"

Nick directed his attention to Wolford, who didn't look very pleased with his dinner.

"I can't believe they send shinies off to war with this stuff," he disapproved.

Nick took his chance at revenge. "Want a little cheese with your whine?"

Wolford gave a snort of appreciation and a laugh. "Nice to know you care."

"Always, babe," Nick replied sarcastically, blowing a satiric kiss towards his cop friend.

"So, Hood," Wolford began, tossing his food at the crate in which it had arrived. "What's for fun around here? Suppose you take a fancy to archery contests, yeah?"

"Yes, normally," Robin admitted. "Though I don't believe Nicholas would enjoy drawing a bow with his shoulder in such a bad condition, and my body knows better than to try and shoot with wounds on both my shoulders."

Nick chuckled. "I could do with a guitar or something else to fiddle around with right about now. Play a couple songs, take a little of the tension away, y'know?"

Robin's ears perked up "If it's music you wish for, I believe…" His sentence trailed off as he started poking around the dugout. "It _should_ be somewhere around here."

Nick treated himself to another bite of a masquerading bundle of cheese and grains. "You sure you know what you're looking for?"

"I would never leave it somewhere it might be mistreated," came Robin's voice from underneath a wooden bed frame, tail swishing curiously.

"And beneath the bed is the best place to put something you don't want accidentally damaged," Nick sarcastically observed.

Robin's dusty head popped out of the dark underbelly of the frame. He shook a couple of times to get the unwanted hitchhikers out of his fur. "I don't know where it could be," he stated, a frown slowly coming over his muzzle.

"What's it you're looking for, mate?" Wolford set his food down and got up to aid in the search. "Might as well join the fray."

"A lute," Robin explained. "A long neck-like object with a rounded part on the bottom. A hole is cut into it, and strings go on top of it."

"It's a guitar-lookin' thing," Nick translated for his fellow officer.

"Yeah, got it, Wilde," Wolford said, a little short. He began the prowl for a medieval instrument, turning things over halfheartedly and putting them back more or less how he found them.

"Remind me not to have you as an overnight guest."

"Stuff a sock in it, foxboy."

"With pleasure."

"All right, you've crossed the line into innuendos, Wilde."  
"Mm-hmm."

Wolford shook his head. "Try and be mature, would you?"

"Not in my natural instincts."

"Do your good deed for the day and spare me your child's banter."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Robin chuckled. "Surely there's no need for such pointless jargon." He rotated his bandage-free shoulder. "And besides, it would seem I've put it somewhere else. There are so many of our hideaways in this forest, I must have stored it in another one of them."

"Three in the afternoon with nothing to do. You guys wanna play ' _Doom_?'"

"Like there's any chance Nottingham has electricity yet," Wolford scoffed.

"Did you not get the reference? I was joking."

"When are you not?"

"Fair enough," Nick smiled. "Say, where's John?"

Robin shrugged. "He seemed to be in a hurry. All he said was, 'Don't speak to Marian yet.' After that, he ran off into the forest. Towards our alarm system, I believe."

"You guys have an alarm system?" Nick was impressed; making any kind of system in this place must be a tough ask.

"A small one, yes," Robin explained. "It lets us know if there's a traveling carriage on any of the paths to Nottingham. If we hear it go off, it means there's a wealthy individual coming by."

"But couldn't any old carriage set it off?" Wolford reasoned. "You must have banged it up a few times and gone after a peasant, yeah?"

Robin shook his head. "No one in Nottingham is able to afford a carriage. The only reason Otto had one is because he needs it for his work. That's the only way Prince John will let you keep something of use: if he benefits from it more when you have it."

"Well, can't argue with that," Wolford admitted.

Nick poked his snout into his MRE, checking his ration level. Only a few bites left presented themselves, and he seized yet another spoonful of food and provided himself with more essential nutrients. "So you think he might be going after an unsuspecting rich guy?"

Robin shook his head. "My ears are the more sensitive of the two of us, and I've heard naught but silence."

"You might have missed it what with all the adrenaline and such." Nick tried to point out a solution. "I mean, you _did_ almost die not seven hours ago."

"Perhaps," Robin mused, rubbing his eyelids. "I'm not at my best strength, that much is certain."

"Same here, as you probably already figured out." Nick ate another spoonful of MRE, and with it came the end of his brief afternoon snack. He put the brown bag on the ground, his plastic spoon encased in its cheesy prison.

 _Chank!_

Nick jumped as the magical hill began to roll back. Wolford reached for his pistol again, but he had barely even knelt down before Little John's voice came from underneath the rising ground.

"It's me, Rob!" he assured.

"Come in, Little John!" the valiant thief acknowledged. "We've quite the party going down here."

The bear dropped in through the hole in the hill, his belly jiggling a little as his feet met the hard ground. "Had to reset the trap," he huffed. "Guess a rock must have set it off by mistake." He paused once his eyes rested warily on the MREs. "Say, what are those things, anyway?"

"Packets of food," Robin explained, though he sounded a little uncertain. "It seems that...chemistry?" He looked to Nick for confirmation.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, you got it."

"It seems that chemistry allows the animals in the future to make food quickly."

Little John rubbed his chin. "Huh. Sounds a little off. Are you sure it's not witchcraft?"

"It's science. I could explain it, but I'd need a chalkboard, a suit with elbow pads, and a student whose last name is Bueller— you know what, never mind, I forgot you guys aren't film savvy anyway."

"Hey, here's an idea," Wolford started sarcastically. "Why don't we tell each other epic tales of our adventures like a bunch of Junior Ranger Scouts around a campfire?"

Nick actually kind of liked it; he felt himself perk up in curiosity. "Y'know, that's not a half-bad way to pass the time. I mean, there's no way we can plan an attack on Prince John from here, right?"

Robin's legs buckled; his entire body fell to the ground, cross-legged, in one fluid motion. "Shall we begin?" he asked.

"Yes, but preferably _after_ you cover up your shame, mate," came Wolford's disgusted voice.

"...so that was when we ended up actually catching her red-handed," Nick finished the tale of his grand adventure. "Went down for conspiracy against the country of Zootopia, involuntary murder, animal slaughter, unlawful manipulation of multiple animals, and assaulting an officer."

Robin furrowed his brow. "It would seem that this...Bellwether woman could have been captured much faster than she was. If you have the ability to search the homes of suspicious animals, why didn't you?"

"You need a warrant in the future, mate," Wolford explained. "In Zootopia, all animals are given the benefit of the doubt. They're innocent until proven guilty. We can't just charge in for no reason. The right to privacy from the government, see."

"Privacy," Little John guffawed. "Nottingham would be a lot different if privacy had any place in our government, huh, Rob?"

"You're not wrong, Johnny. It would be very different, indeed." Robin balanced an arrow at the tip of his claw. Every time it moved one way or another, he would wince, jerking his shoulder out of harm's way, yet leaving the arrow atop its perch.

"Is it sleepy time yet, you two?" Nick asked, yawning. "I'm starting to think we spent a lot of time sitting around and bragging about our adventures."

"Let me check." Little John walked over to the faux-hill door and grabbed something between finger and thumb. His arm cranked backwards as a sliding noise pricked Nick's ears, leaving some kind of hole towards which he bent down. The little stubby tail on his rump twitched left and right. His mouth was split into a jovial smile as he turned around.

"Well, how about it?" he laughed. "It's nightfall already!"

Nick smiled and couldn't help but mutter to himself, "Thought so."

"Well, everyone to bed!" Robin ordered cheerfully. "Tomorrow's another day of thievery and charity!"

"Yeah, think I'm gonna stay here tonight," Nick replied. "Don't want to move my shoulder too much."

"Your prerogative, Wilde." Wolford vaulted into his own bed and started to settle himself for a good long sleep. "Sleeping in a hollowed-out tree is an experience I definitely don't want to miss."

"If you want, I can leave you here and go back to Zootopia myself."

Wolford sneezed in disgust. "Yeah, no, thanks. I'd rather see my family again."

"Yeah, well, I get that either way." Nick realized what he had said and gritted his teeth, kicking himself inwardly.

"What?" Robin tilted his head.

"It was a joke," Nick said quickly, trying to be as indifferent as possible. "I wasn't thinking straight. It's been a long day, you know."

"All right," Robin said a little hesitantly, as if he wasn't quite ready to believe his distant offspring's excuse. "Well, everyone get some sleep. We'll need as much rest as we can get if we're to overthrow Prince John be the end of the week."

Nick agreed, and closed his eyes.

 _I'm coming home, Judy,_ he thought. _I promise._

 _Ow!_

Nick's shoulder jerked him out of his peaceful, Judy-filled sleep. A throbbing pain now hit him in the back of the head and a thud ensued; he massaged it gently, cursing at the wooden wall against which he had been resting. It was dark. Still night. He looked around. Wolford was sound asleep, that much was obvious (and, from what Nick had heard of the lupine, expected). Little John's snoring was so loud it verged on the threshold of pain as each giant snort bashed Nick's ears in. Wait. Robin wasn't in his bed. What?

Movement came to Nick slowly as he rose to his feet as quietly as he could, taking care not to hurt his shoulder. He sneaked to the hidden door in the tree trunk in the quietest way he could. His paw reached out to touch the wood, to see what had happened, to—

A giant snorting noise, bigger than usual, pounced from Little John's bed. Rustling of bedsheets flowed over to Nick's brain. Fear grabbed him, and he felt his tail get bushy as he turned his head slowly, dreading that John was going to see him poking around. But the bruin merely twitched an ear and kept sleeping. A giant breath that Nick hadn't noticed he was holding in escaped his lips. Moving as slowly as his pulsing heart would let him, he resumed reaching for the entrance. The bite of fresh wood nipped at his paw. A small groan of exertion jumped from his mouth as he pried his obstacle, almost in perfect slow-motion form, out of the way. He stopped just short of a quarter of the way, barely enough for a fox to fit through.

Sucking in his stomach and inching his body through the slit, Nick could only think about where Robin could possibly have gone. What kind of crazy fox sneaks off in the middle of the night in a foreign—oh wait. He lives here. These aren't foreign lands. But for Nick, they were. To find one animal in this massive forest? He'd have his work cut out for him, that much was certain.

Nick let his breath out in a huge gasp, relaxing for a moment before he turned and proceeded to close the door just as covertly as he had opened it. With a final, minuscule bump, it returned to its resting state, dormant as the tree it seemed to be a part of. Turning around, Nick quickly realized he had no idea where to start looking. The low-hanging fog threw off his sense of direction. It muddled his mind, distracted him from his prey. Nick quickly snapped himself out of his trance and began to hunt. Where would _he_ have gone, if he was Robin?

Then his ears perked up in clarity. Marian.

Of course! A midnight romance! He had been too far from home, he hadn't had the chance before, and now he could see his true love again! All Nick had to do was find Maid Marian's home, and Robin would be there.

But no sooner had Nick lifted his foot before a voice in the back of his head stopped him. What if Robin wasn't at Marian's? What if he headed off in the wrong direction, and lost time? What if he got lost himself and failed to survive long enough to find someone to help him? The woods were alien, and he hadn't the survival skills he would have acquired from Ranger Scouts. He wouldn't last two hours in Sherwood.

Something chomped at his eye, his instincts simmering in their primal urges. The leaves to his right looked recently disturbed. Tracks. And they looked like they could match a fox's foot. Who needs pawPhones?

With a new confidence nestled in his chest, Nick followed the ancient tracks, creeping along step by step so as not to upset the notoriously noisy leaves. Gently now, easy does it…

The auditory land mines lay dormant as he stealthily dodged around them; they were no match for his primally muffled feet. Even in the dimly-lit, foggy morning, he could see fairly far, and the tracks went on, calling to Nick like tempting chocolates. The wry cop couldn't resist a smile. It was almost like Robin wanted to be followed…

A tree cracked; Nick spun around and put his paws up, ready for a fight. His shoulder yelled at him in pain, and he groaned, pressing his right paw on the wound. He looked around. Nothing. It was just the tree settling, then. Good. He was, quite obviously, not in a position to be exchanging blows. He cranked his shoulder tenderly, trying not to anger it any more than it already was. His eyes autonomously slid their way back towards Robin's tracks, ordering his brain to resume the chase. His legs obeyed his eyes, moving one cautious foot in front of the other to keep himself clandestine in the dark predawn.

Wait. The tracks circled themselves, doubled over. Why? What had made Robin so antsy? Nick took a cautious swivel around the forest, scanning for any sign of life; he felt his eyes narrow as his sense of sound heightened considerably, enabling him access to the smallest pile of leaves rustling at the smallest puff of wind. Nothing. No threat, ally, or otherwise poked out of the foggy, ancient morning. He loosened his muscles, breathing a sigh in an attempt to calm himself. Robin beckoned to him. Nick took up his strength and followed in the footsteps of his ancestor, thinking to himself.

 _Whoops. Looks like Rob tripped over that tree trunk. Huh. Figured he would know every nook and cranny in this place, how'd he miss that? Wait...where's the tracks?_

The tracks ended after Robin took his apparent fall over the tree trunk. Nick whipped his head around, searching for the elusive prints that would lead him to his comrade. But they didn't exist. Nick circled the tree, looking for anything that would offer a clue to Robin's whereabouts. Not a single misplaced leaf spelled the end of his stealthy disappearance, no tuft of rust-colored fur indicated a path by which to travel. So if the tree's where he got lost, then—

Hold on. Maybe he _didn't_ get lost. Maybe…?

Nick looked up at the foliage of the curling Sherwood trees. He must have. There was no other explanation. And since Nick couldn't climb, he wouldn't be able to give chase. Damn it. Gotta head back. Nick turned and began the trip back to the tree, admitting defeat. Robin had outfoxed him. The fog dampened his spirits while he trudged. It didn't look like this weather was going to get any better. Robin would keep his early-morning activities a secret, for the time being.

 _Next time, Robin. Next time I'll figure out what you're doing._


	16. Home Invasion

"Get up. We have a problem, Wilde."

Nick rolled his head around. Why? Why did they have to wake up? Couldn't they just give it a rest for once?

"Wilde. _Now_."

Nick made a groaning noise, hoping to get his point across. Five more minutes? Was that too much to—?

A jolt zapped him in the ribs; he yelped instinctively as the world jerked into a blurry existence. Wolford wasn't kidding. Even his aura seemed jumpy as his ears pricked around at noises invisible to Nick's brain.

"Wuzzghoingawn?"

"Prince John found us."

All was a blur; before he could consciously tell himself what had happened, Nick had thrown himself to his feet and migrated to their makeshift armory. He grabbed his rifle and checked the magazine before yanking the slide back. He turned to gather more information about the problem. Wolford, however, was already trying to take the gun away.

"Wilde, what're you doing?" he hissed, prying the weapon from Nick's startled paws. "We can get out of this without killing anyone."

Nick didn't see the logic in his ally's thinking. "And we do that how?"

"Sneak."

It was too early; Nick had just woken up, and his friend's words fell on deaf ears. "No, we can fight!" he hissed desperately.

"Ssshh!" Wolford hushed him, his claw pressed against his own lips. "They'll hear."

"We can't stay here, Nicholas." Robin's voice jumped from the dark; night vision was apparently taking longer to kick in than normal. "Death waits for us here."

Nick stood still, not in apprehension, but thought. If they stood their ground, they could end it here. Take a few shots, albeit half-awake, and it could all be over. One more attack with the guns and the entire guard would be thoroughly scared of them. Not a single hostile would think twice about turning tail if he found himself at their mercy. But then word would get out. Robin Hood, a murderer. If Prince John hadn't already started rumors about the fact that his foe had befriended a sorcerer, he'd jump at the chance to slander the thief's reputation. Getting out of danger's way would be much more preferable.

Wait. Running. They were running. Nick never ran. It was a sign of weakness, of inferiority, of submissiveness. The last time he had run, he had endured echoing laughter for months. A permanent branding of the Scouts, the muzzle, had been seared into his head, and nothing he had tried truly rid him of it. It was better to meet the end fighting than get caught trying to run away, as they were bound to do. Prince John undoubtedly surrounded the tree with his loyal drones. They'd get shot as soon as they tried sneaking out. MStay and fight. That was the—

 _That's the trick in combat, my dear Nicholas. Always appear weaker than you are._

Nick had no idea who had said it, but a vague memory played back in his head. Someone...someone red. A fox? It was too fuzzy to make out.

 _Appear weaker than you are_.

"All right," Nick whispered. "We'll sneak."

No sooner had he finished his sentence than the massive cracking of moving wood caused Nick to rocket into the air like a bullet from Wolford's sniper rifle. He snapped to the fake tree door, and his heart sank in pure fear. It was opening, slowly and ominously presenting the early-morning sun that had come as the last thing they would ever see. A shadow soon obscured the bright, doom-lined butter, a shadow of massive girth. And the feeling was back: the feeling of inescapable horror, of eternal agony and torture, the feeling of never being free of fear.

"You again," he managed to mumble.

The sadistic chuckling of the black bear was all he heard in reply.

Screw running; Nick was making his stand here and now. He spun around to grab the gun again. The cool steel filled him with a sense of dominance and boosted his cockiness as he whipped back again to open fire.

A sharp something angrily pricked its way onto Nick's throat. He stopped moving and held his paws up instinctively, holding the gun in his left. The taunting glint of sunlight ricocheted off the bear's greatsword. The feeling was back again, clawing at Nick's heart like a savage beast.

"I'd really rather not have to deal with bloodshed so early in the morning," the bear recited, sounding a little bored.

Nick found himself breathing much harder and faster as his eyes adjusted to the bright outdoors. His assailant had twisted the right side of his muzzle into a vicious sneer. Behind him stood three archers, bows drawn. Behind them, more guards with swords, axes, and clubs. The odds were clearly favoring the dictator's side. It should have been enough to shut the fox up for good, but Nick couldn't help but throw in an editorial.

"Somehow, I feel like you have the advantage, but I can't quite put my finger on it," he said, scratching at the top of the sword with a single claw.

The bear chuckled once again, the tip of the sword digging itself a little deeper into Nick's throat with each spout of air that escaped its wielder. "Well, as much as I enjoy your... _interesting_ humor, I'm afraid we won't be seeing each other for much longer. That is…" he cackled. "Not in _this_ world."

"So this is how Prince John wants it all to go down?" Nick found a slew of words coming to him, and he hurled them at the bruin as mercilessly as he could with a sword that threatened to impale his throat. "Second-in-command corners the outlaws, without a fair fight, and lets his lackeys watch while he ends Robin's so-called rain of terror? I thought you renaissance guys prided yourselves on honor in battle. Or are you as scared as you look?"

The bear growled, his yellow teeth glistening with saliva. Nick braced himself for a sword through the neck. His eyes closed, and he could feel his teeth subconsciously gritting together. He could be free of this whole nightmare right here, right now. Take a blade and leave his place in the afterlife to the powers that be.

The prickling feeling on his neck shrank away. The sound of a sword being sheathed broke the roaring of blood that had been overpowered his ears moments ago. Nick felt his eyelids flickering as the world slowly came back into view. His captor had returned his massive sword back to its scabbard.

"I will let you live, fox," he snarled. "Only because I want to watch your muzzle fall as I kill you on the battlefield. But know this: the next time I discover where you are hiding, I _will_ attack. Good day." And with that, he turned his back on them and threw a paw out in front of him, goading his troops to retreat.

"Wait."

Nick spun around to clamp a paw on Wolford's muzzle before the lupine could say anything else. Wolford, however, saw it coming and ducked, leaving Nick's arm awkwardly swiping across thin air.

"You might have the common courtesy to tell us who the bloody hell you are, mate," he said, standing back up.

The bear stopped in his tracks. His abnormally broad shoulders turned slowly, daunting, as he turned around to speak to his new friend.

"Me?" he cackled. "I am hell on earth. I am the the servant to his majesty Lucifer. I stood by him as we were cast into the pit of fiery damnation, and I will stand by him as we rise up and overtake he who thought omnipotence was his. My name is Beothr." He sneered at Robin."I believe we have had the pleasure of meeting already, my dear crusader."

Nick gauged Robin's reaction. Nothing good could possibly come from what this bear was saying. The veteran vulpine stared at his foe in horror, his mouth open in realization.

"But...no," he sputtered. "You should still be in the war!"

"Oh, but I am," came the cold, frightening reply as the bear shouldered his way past Nick and towards Robin. "I fight the crusade that has been fought for centuries: the vicious struggle to overthrow the corrupt, the arrogant lord that weighed the scales and found himself better than my master."

Nick stepped in between Robin and Beothr. "Hey, check your tone, Smokey. Walk away and we'll settle this sometime else."

Beothr stopped himself, letting a twisted smirk overtake his muzzle. "All right, fox. We will see you all again soon enough." He allowed himself one last chuckle before turning tail, lumbering away with an escort of tall, fat rhinoceros and short, skinny hounds following him intently.

Nick's legs gave out; he put one arm out and leaned against the tree, suddenly very much aware of the fact that his breath was coming in short, sharp huffs.

"Christ," Wolford scoffed. "Talk about your trigger-happy psychos."

"So why do you know him again, Robin?"

Robin's mouth was contorted into a brutal frown, his brows arched in malice over loathful eyes. "He murdered someone close to me," he said quietly.

A sense of immense guilt smacked Nick on the nose as soon as he heard his ancestor's somber response. "I...I'm sorry, Robin."

"You weren't aware," Robin shrugged it off, his composure slowly coming back to his muzzle. "There's no need for apology."

"Hey, anyone know where Little John went?" Wolford's head swiveled around as if separated from his body, searching for their lost friend.

"Was he even with us when you woke me up?" Nick asked, now looking for Little John with his cop buddy. How could such a big bear slip away like that?

" _Hey!_ "

A voice jousted in the morning air, charging the serenity with a viciousness rivaled by none. Nick could tell it was Little John, and he could only guess what was going on. He poked his head out of the tree to gauge the bear's location.

 _Whack!_

Nick jerked his head back in surprise, yelping at the stinging pain that had just dashed across his cheek. His paw latched onto it, primally tending to his discomfort.

"Sorry, Nick." A huge paw found itself on his shoulder. Little John seemed to have slapped him pretty hard, and was apologizing for it. "Guess I thought you were one of them."

"Yeah, because they've got red foxes on their side," Nick replied, feeling at his cheek with two fingers. He glanced over at Robin to see if he had gotten a smirk out of the stoic bandit, but all Robin could do was stand there with a terrified expression on his muzzle.

"Well, at least he's not deserted us, then." Wolford was apparently trying to work out the positive side it the whole thing. "Where were you, mate."

"Nature," Little John admitted. "Right in the middle of it when I heard the commotion." He looked over and saw Robin, and his cheery attitude dropped fast. "Hey, what's wrong with Rob?"

Robin broke the staring contest he'd been having with the wall and looked to John. "I know who he is."

Little John cocked his head. "Who?"

"Beothr."

John recoiled. "No." He backed away in shock, eyes wide with horror. "No. He's still in Jerusalem."

"It would seem he followed us back." Robin pulled out an arrow and started fiddling with it, his eyes darting around as he went about his task.

"Still doesn't change the fact that we have to go into town again today," Nick said, rubbing his eyes with his pawpads. "More likely than not that psycho's trying to scare us away from the daily care package."

"He doesn't know about them, though, does he?" Wolford jumped in.

"He might, Wolford." Nick rubbed his chin with his paw. "I mean, he knew where we were _sleeping_. We're dealing with someone who knows what he's doing."

"He knows, he doesn't know," Little John droned. "Come on! We've got to go to the church and get your stuff anyway. Might as well do it as soon as possible."

Nick agreed; sure, it was the best thing to do, but he'd be damned if he didn't stock up on equipment. He turned back into the tree to grab his rifle. The cold metal absorbed his paw, made it feel complete. The handle was supposed to be on his pawpad, the extra weight was destined to strengthen his left arm. His conscience laughed with delight as he snapped the loading mechanism with a satisfying clash of steel against steel. He turned to move out.

"Jeez, Wilde!" Wolford protested. "It's not World War III! Come on."

"I'm bringing it," Nick stood firm. "I'm bringing it and that's the end of that."

Wolford sighed, then opened his mouth to say something, then closed his mouth and walked towards his own gun. "Fine," he caved in as he picked up his own weapon. "But only if we need to."

"They're tranquilizer rounds, Wolfie," Nick chuckled. "What's the harm?"

* * *

"Oh, bloody— you've got to be _kidding_ me!"

Wolford had summed up Nick's train of thought in one irate sentence. How did that happen?

"We were defenseless!" Friar Tuck reasoned. "We're in the house of the Lord! There's no room for weapons here! That's why I insist you leave all of your tools outside!"

"And yet somehow they managed to get in here _with_ weapons?" the lupine snarled.

"They came here with the intentions of harming someone!" Tuck explained. "The only way to prevent a conflict was give them the clue! I swear, Robin, I didn't want anyone getting hurt!"

Robin pat the badger on the shoulder and shushed him. "It's all right, Friar. We'll soon recover it."

Nick sat down in the church pew. "Oh, man," he pinched the bridge his nose. "If they get their paws on something, it could be devastating."

"Let's hope they just managed to steal something like water. You know, something that can't be used as a weapon." Wolford began pacing uneasily.

"I wish I could tell you what it was," Friar Tuck offered, "but even if I was rude enough to read your message, it would be a riddle, not an answer! We have no way of telling what they might have been led to."

"But this is all a problem only if they figure out the clue," Robin pointed out. "All of this will only be a threat if they can find the thing we're looking for."

Nick's heart rushed with excitement as he formulated a plan in record time. "Prince John's going to bring in his best problem solver for the job. Robin, how smart are they?"

Robin shrugged. "I've never asked. Though if they found us in one night, I suppose they can't be very slow, can they?"

Little John weighed in. "Yeah, they're more smart than dumb."

"Well, can we count on them to solve the riddle, whatever it might be?"

The two green-clothed bandits looked at each other.

"I...s'pose," Little John answered, to which Robin nodded, raising his eyebrows and lifting his shoulders inquisitively.

"Well, then, let's let them solve the clue and lead us right to it!" Nick concluded. "Work, smarter, not harder."

He took in all of the room's reactions at once. Wolford was nodding in agreement. Little John appeared to be a bit hesitant The friar was reading what Nick could only assume was a bible, and Robin was smiling.

"I like it, Nicholas," he said. "But what do we do in the meantime?"

Nick smiled. The last time he checked, Robin hadn't seen the one animal he loved since they got back.

"It's time for you to run a personal errand," he smiled.

"Okay, come on!" Nick hissed, waving a paw at his ancestor.

Robin took a cautionary glance to the left, then to the right. Satisfied with the lack of guards, he ran to Nick on light feet, nary a sound crunching from underneath him. Nick took a few steps to the right, making sure to keep himself flattened against the cold cobblestone wall. The rifle pressed up against his back, tingling his fur with its icy body. Robin followed suit as he approached, pushing his back into the stones and sticking to the noon-cast shadow. He peeked around the corner for a split second, then came back around.

"I won't lie, Nicholas," Robin said, panting slightly. "I'm a little nervous."

A boyish laugh forced its way into Nick's mouth, and he had to stifle it to keep from letting it free. "I don't blame you, Rob," he said, more emotional than he liked. Judy was the sensitive one. Why was he getting teary all of a sudden? Jeez, medieval life had made him soft...He tapped Robin on the shoulder. "Go on, man!" he whispered. "Pop in and say hi! What's the worst that could happen?"

 _Rejection, probably_ , his conscience offered.

Robin took a stride out into the light and turned the corner, and Nick wasn't far behind. Missing his bloodline's reunion definitely wasn't on the itinerary. He took in every detail, savoring a memory in action, a reminiscence he of which he would never tire. The artistically beautiful stone path, the vibrant green grass and the rainbow of flowers, the elegantly simple cottages and homes. It was like someone had yanked him by the back of the collar to put him in an ancient paradise.

The sharp sound of a paw on wood cut his attention, and Nick watched Robin lower his fist. The outlaw cast a nervously excited glance back at him. He made a scooting motion with his paw, goading on the thief. Robin smiled and turned around to the door.

Even from twenty feet away, Nick could hear the lock disengage and the knob turn. The door opened in a second and a half, and the lovely Maid Marian came forth.

Nick felt like he was looking through a time machine, like this was the first time the two foxes had ever met. Their eyes locked subconsciously, their mouths dropped slightly in passion. Marian's breathing became deeper and more visible. For a second, neither of them said a thing, each rooted to the ground. Then they threw their arms around each other, sobs of relief breaking through their shoulders.

Wait...what's this thing? Nick felt something working its way down the side of his muzzle frighteningly fast. He brought two fingers to the thing, swiped at it gingerly, and looked down. He smiled. Those sly, rusty-looking lovers. They got him to cry.

Marian was saying something to Robin, but it was hard to translate while it got soaked up by Robin's shirt. The thief stroked his paw up and down Marian's back, his tail swishing up to wrap itself around the waist of its lover. The two gave one last squeeze, then pulled their heads up to look at each other.

"I…I thought you…" Marian stopped and started sobbing again. She burrowed her head into Robin's chest. Robin shushed her tenderly.

"It's all right, I'm here," he assured her. "I'm alive."

Nick felt his paw reaching for the grip of his gun on instinct, and his head was thrown on a swivel, spinning round and searching for guards. Nothing to the left. Nothing to the...wait. Shadows. The morning sun cast the echoes of foes fast approaching. Spiky figures protruded from their appendages. Weapons There were at least four of them. Nick whistled. Robin turned around to look, and Marian followed suit. Her eyes grew wider as she looked at him.

Nick jerked his head towards the incoming hostiles, ripping the gun off his back and resting the butt of the rifle in his shoulder. Robin turned his back to Marian, spreading his arms out wide to defend her. He looked over at Nick, eyes full of panic, and nodded. Nick took a few deep breaths. Okay. Nothing to it. Just shoot four dudes and they're down for the count. He mustered his strength and charged.

No sooner had he burst forth bravely into the enemy than he realized his mistake. They had been ready for him. The second he jumped out, each and every one of them let forth a battle cry of sheer fury. Nick fumbled for the rifle and squeezed off bad shots, most of them missing their targets. He raised the sights to his eye and lined up a bullet. Something whizzed past his ear. An arrow. Archers! He looked up to find them, but they were hiding. He snapped the sights back down to deal with the ones he could see.

 _Bam!_ A massive guard barreled into him, knocking the wind out of his chest and slamming him to the ground. "Gah!" The rifle flew out of his right paw, and his other paw closed around the grip instinctively. His assailant pushed himself off of the fox and straddled him, pinning Nick to the ground. From his waist, he pulled a dagger and thrust it high over his head. The gun dragged its owner's arm with it as it lashed out at the guard's muzzle and fired. Red paint splattered the guard's horn, and he fell back unconscious.

Nick scrambled to his feet and ran toward the lover-filled door frame. "Get inside!" he yelled, watching as Robin ushered Marian in with haste. Three steps, two, one...Nick leapt up the stairs to the front door, dive-rolling through the frame. As he came back up, he spun around towards the attacking horde.

Something clicked: the inner savage inside him burst forth, and he felt his muzzle change, morphing from fearfulness to demented excitement. With a fierce scream, he fired the rifle relentlessly, walking to the door as he shot. His right paw left the rifle and grabbed hold of the door, and his left paw relaxed as he threw it into place and locked it. They were safe for now.

The rifle dropped as Nick beelined for the cabinet next to him and began to drag it in front of the door. As soon as he let go of it, a massive bang came from the door and he jumped back, startled. They had just tried to ram their way in. Thank God they had failed.

"What-what's going on?" Marian asked, her eyes darting around frantically.

"They knew we were coming, Marian," Robin supplied, checking the windows for any approaching flanks. "I should have thought better of this. It was folly to put you in such danger."

" _Guys_ ," Nick interrupted. "We have bigger problems." He made sure to look at Robin, dead serious. "We're cut off from Wolford and Little John. The guards are still out there. Reinforcements are going to come, and I'm sure your demon guy's gonna show up at some point too." He dropped the magazine from his assault rifle. Damn. Only a few rounds left, and no spare clips. The only ammo he had was for a pistol. He sighed and looked out at the gathering crowd, guards in the center of it all.

"We're in here for the long haul."


	17. The Siege of Nottingham

Nick rubbed sleep out of his eyes, the rifle cradled in his lap like a newborn. It was nightfall. _Nightfall_. This had gone from a simple reunion to a deadly siege too quickly for anyone to register it. Pure fatigue snapped its massive jaws, reared its ugly head at his mind, bending his resolve more and more with each and every passing second and dragging him deeper and deeper into a state of rest. What miracles an energy drink would do for him now. But this was medieval England. They didn't even have black powder, let alone a processed foods industry. He growled in frustration. If he gave up now, Prince John would win. It'd all be over. Probably get killed while he slept. The prince couldn't get any more control of Nottingham or the course of history would change forever. It was time to separate the plebes from the firsties. Nick stood up slowly, groaning from sleep deprivation, put the rifle over his back, and cracked his neck. If he was going to die tonight, he was going to die fighting. Protect the innocent against hostile forces, serve the public, and defend freedom to his last breath. The sound of footsteps descending Marian's staircase approached him, and he turned his head to the sky to see Robin coming down to speak to him.

"Quite a fight, eh, Nicholas?" Robin said, his droopy ears complementing his tired eyes.

"You look about as good as I feel." Nick allowed himself a chuckle. Even if death was paying him a visit tonight, he was going to be the same wisecrack he always had been.

Robin walked to the window and put two fingers to the curtains, moving them to the side a little. "They're still out don't they come in and kill us? They outnumber us greatly, and we have no weapons. What would keep them from attacking?"

"They probably think I've got some kind of super-evil magic thing I've brought with me from the future to use when they're just about to take us out." Nick scratched the top of his head.

"But we don't have anything like that. Do we?"

Nick shook his head. "But as long as they _think_ that...we can use it to our advantage." He looked around for nothing in particular. "Is there anything lying around that they might not know about?"

Robin shook his head. "Marian would know."

"Are you all right with asking her?"

"Asking me what?"

Nick jumped; apparently, Marian had been listening for a while. She was standing atop the stairs Robin had just climbed down, and had the complexion of a naive bystander, wearing the pink and purple dress that had enveloped her so elegantly when Nick had first seen her. He could feel his once-thumping heart weakening its pulse a little, satisfied that the vixen wasn't a threat.

"Marian," Robin said, giving a nervous chuckle. "You're not going to rest after all?"

"Something wouldn't let me," Marian replied, beginning her descent. "Just the thought of you fighting off these beasts…" She shuddered. "It's enough to worry me sleepless. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Nick cast an uncertain glance at Robin. "Actually, there _is_ one thing." Robin did nothing to protest moving forward, so Nick continued. "Are there any places we can use to hide or escape in here?"

Marian stopped mid-staircase, her mouth open slightly. "I don't know," she replied, somewhat timid. "I've never had use for such a thing."

Time to fish for a solution. "May we look around, Maid Marian?" Nick suggested. "We might find something of use."

 _Krisssh!_

A shiver of apprehension froze Nick's body. A window had just died, and their safe house was finally compromised. Shards of glass tinkled at him, the tiny pieces of window dashing themselves against his clothes in vain.

" _Robin Hood!_ " Prince John's furious tones jabbed at the cop's vulpine ears. "Jeez!" Nick instinctively clapped his paws over them.

"I have an offer for you," Prince John called. "Come out so that we may discuss!"

Bad idea. _Bad_ idea. Nick turned to Robin. This couldn't happen. Robin would get killed the second he opened the door. "Handsome Scoundrel, can I talk you to for a second?"

Without waiting for a response, Nick seized Robin by the arm and dragged him into the next room.

"Listen, Rob." The urgency in his voice kept him from whispering like he had planned; it came out more of a growl than anything else. "Under no circumstances should you go out there. You're a dead guy once you turn that knob."

Robin cocked his head. "If he wants to end it now, Nicholas, we should let it end here. I would rather be dragged away in chains than endanger Marian's life any more."

That couldn't happen. Nick felt his heart jumping at the bony prison of his ribs. "No. You can't, Robin. You'd screw over billions of innocent animals in ways that I can't even comprehend. No matter what happens, you can't die before Prince John is overthrown."

Robin jerked his arm out of Nick's grip, scowling. "There's no reason you can tell me what to do. If we have the chance to stop the senseless violence, then we take it."

"Trust me, Robin, you really don't want to do that." Nick couldn't let it happen. His whole existence depended upon the ancient bandit living through to see Prince John overthrown. One wrong move could change a thousand years of history, and leave the future to fate. "For my sake, keep your head in the game."

"Do animals from the future still believe in God, Nicholas?" Robin spat it; Nick's primal brain sensed a conflict in progress, and he could feel his ears folding back to prepare for a fight. "Because He abhors bloodshed. He hates the very idea of it! And I wish to do nothing more than appease Him by stopping this terrible plague!"

"God hates violence." Nick didn't mean to scoff, but the words shot from his mouth like a jet of derision. "Is that why he told you to kill for the Holy Land?"

Immediately, he realized his mistake, but it was too late. Robin's arm, viciously lashing out with a mind of its own, snatched Nick by the throat and pushed him into the wall. A very angry archer followed suit, leaping into his muzzle with teeth bared.

"I'm not sure what your traditions are in Zootopia, _Nicholas_ , but insulting the Lord will get you killed. You would be better off not speaking against God."

"I get it, Rob," Nick coughed; his new enemy had been considerate enough to keep his grip loose so that the time-traveling cop could speak. "You're devoted to God. But just cause he promises eternal life doesn't mean you should blindly throw your life away. The animals of Nottingham need your help, damn it!" His voice was slowly building, but he didn't care. Robin couldn't be allowed to do something as stupid as dying for no reason.

"I don't understand, Nicholas," growled Robin. "Why are you so protective of me, hmm? Taking me in once I was in your world, the first fight with our scarred friend, and now this? What's going on? What do you know that I don't? I'm more than capable of handling myself. I fought the saracens with bow and arrow, sword, and my bare paws. Why? Why do you feel the _constant_ need to shield me?"

" _Because if you die, then I never exist!"_

Damn it. Nick had said it. The fingers loosened. The muzzle backed away. Robin's eyes went wide as he took the first few frightened steps from his once paw-pinned prey. "Wh...what?"

Nick sighed in frustration, kicking himself; there was no reason to try and hide it anymore. It was done. "After all of this Prince John stuff is over, you and Marian become husband and wife. You have offspring. From that offspring, my ancestors are born." He found himself pacing about the room as he spoke, past the furniture, the carpet, the lit candles. "If you give yourself over now, Marian never has your child, and me and the rest of your bloodline is erased from existence. And that's only one of the problems that could be created. Prince John could seize total power. Dictators could rise and build empires. Hell, Zootopia could never even _exist_ anymore.

"That's why I'm so protective of you, Robin. I'm not afraid that you're incompetent. I'm afraid that you could die before you and Marian say your vows and keep me from ever being born." Nick found himself sitting in a padded chair, speaking to Robin like a father would to his young son. The crusader stood in place, his mouth as wide as his eyes. It moved up and down for only a few seconds, but could formulate no sound, and soon stood still. His paw fell on Nick's shoulder compassionately, making a friendly thumping noise.

A smile worked its way onto Nick's muzzle, and he grasped at Robin's paw with his own, shaking it affectionately. "Sometimes I just wish some animals were invincible, y'know?" he said, words now flowing freely through his mouth. "Like, immortal. Couldn't die, no matter how many times you tried to kill 'em. Make life so much easier. But that's not the world we live in."

A second of painful silence passed. Then, Nick was treated to an ancient English chuckle.

"If you feel the need to watch over me like a shepherd does his sheep, then I will stay behind and follow you, Nicholas. I assure you, I'm a much better archer than I am a swordsman."

"Well, if you were going easy on me when we were training the first night we got here, I shudder to think how good of a swordsman you are."

"You'll learn quickly, Nicholas," Robin smiled. "It's in your blood."

Nick laughed. "Well, _you_ would know, wouldn't you?"

"Indeed I would."

Nick got up from the chair, his rear a bit warm from the nice, comforting cloth. "So I guess I'm in charge now."

"For the time being, yes," Robin said, his smile never fading.

"All right." The gears in Nick's brain started turning, grinding ideas out of his skull like an assembly. What to do first? Escape. Of course, escape. They were going to do that in the first place. Duh. Okay, okay. How were they going to get away? The house was surrounded. They had already been treated to the sight of guards at every window, beneath every balcony, behind every door. God. What Nick wouldn't do for a Molotov right now. But there was no way Nottingham had beer…

Wait...beer…

Mead! Nick dashed out of the room, towards the stairs. He took a right and followed the hallway that seemed to lead into a kitchen, ignoring Robin's protests of, "Nicholas! What's going on?" Cupboards flew with abandon as Nick frantically threw his paws at every handle and knob he saw.

Something slapped him on the back of the head. "Ow!" He spun to get a good look at the source, and had the gift of an indignant Robin bestowed upon him. "What?"

"I don't know how chivalry works in the future, Nicholas, but rummaging through a home that doesn't belong to you is unacceptable in Nottingham," he growled through gritted teeth.

Nick thought of responding, but decided it would be better not to accidentally piss off the guy who bested countless animals with his stringed piece of curved wood. "Sorry. I was just looking for some kind of alcohol."

Robin scoffed. "Marian, drink? I'd sooner believe that I was the devil."

"Actually…"

Nick jumped he wasn't expecting Marian to overhear them from the other room. He also wasn't expecting her to be quite so loud. "I think Marcus may have left a little mead the last time he was here."

Robin hung his head in disappointment. "Oh, Marcus," he chortled, "Always fond of the drink."

Nick didn't care about this Marcus guy; the only thing that mattered was getting the beer and setting it on fire! They had no time to waste! "You wouldn't happen to remember where he left the stuff, did you?"

Marian furrowed her brow. "Are you sure it's wise to drink when Prince John has forced you to choose between battle and surrender?"

"I don't want to drink it, I want to use it against them," Nick explained. They needed cloth. His clothes. Obviously. Frankly, these sleeves were beginning to annoy him. He grabbed at the left seam with his claws out. His shoulder quietly griped in pain, but the satisfying feeling of torn stitches shooting into his brain outdid it. The sleeve was a rather short one, but it would do. He heard a tiny gasp of shock from Marian. Yes, a regrettable loss, but necessary. He put the dead sleeve on the table. Now all they needed was the booze and the flame. "Maid Marian," he asked with just the right blend of curiosity and courtesy. "Do you have any torches we might be able to use?"

Marian tilted her head. "You certainly ask some rather odd questions, Nicholas." She looked around for a second. "I suppose I may have one underground we could use."

"And Marian, before you go, where might we find Marcus's mead?"

Marian pointed to the cluster of cabinets that Nick hadn't checked yet. "They should be in there. Most of the things I don't need, I keep there."

"Thank you," Robin said, pecking her on the cheek.

Nick started towards the cabinets. One by one, he opened them quickly. The first proved fruitless. The second held a few sacks of flour. The third was just as helpful. But the fourth rewarded him with at least four fat-bottomed bottles of mead. A mischievous grin washed over his muzzle as he grabbed all four of them by their necks, two in each paw, and brought them back out. Robin whistled.

"That's a rather large amount of mead, don't you think?" he asked.

Nick scoffed; he'd seen cops blow through beer and shots fast enough to rack up a .23 BAC in forty-five minutes. And survive. Not sure how, but it was very entertaining watching them try to walk around and speak. "We're going to need all of this, Rob, trust me," he said, uncorking the first bottle. "Can you do me a favor and tear off the sleeves on your shirt?"

A pause from behind tripped Nick's sense of unease. He cracked the second cork out of its place, then looked over his shoulder at Robin, whose eyebrow was raised.

"Why do you want me to do this?" he asked.

"Listen, just do it, okay?" Nick turned back to focus on tearing his other sleeve. "You'll thank me later, and we can get you some new clothes once Prince John's off the throne." The second sleeve peeled off like a bubblegum wrapper, and he wasted no time stuffing the fabric into one of the bottles. The world's first-ever incendiary explosive devices, cooked right here using nothing but booze, fire, cloth, and vulpine ingenuity. Perfect. The sleeve drooped out of the bottleneck like a limp ear, and a sense of excitement overcame him. " _Now_ it's lookin' like something helpful." He began to work on the second one, and passed the others to Robin.

"When you're done with the sleeves, stuff them into these," he explained. "Get them in somewhat tight, but not all the way."

"Why?"

"Because if you do that, then we can't set them on fire."

Robin's muzzle went blank, and a sense of self-satisfaction warmed Nick's stomach. "Trust me."

"I've found a torch!" Marian exclaimed as she hurried in. One paw grabbed her dress, holding it up just enough to keep it from hindering her running. The wooden stick in her other spat a harsh flame from its spout. Nick couldn't help but notice that it practically doubled the amount of light in the room. "Why not one of these candles, Nicholas?"

"Because candles are bad at setting cloth on fire," Nick said, reaching for the elm-borne sun. "May I?"

Marian moved it towards him a little, her muzzle as stunned as Robin's. Nick took it tenderly in his paw. Snatching up a bottle of mead, he held the end of the cloth to the flame, and was treated to the spectacle of a burning sleeve. He transferred the torch back to Marian with a courteous "Would you hold this, please?" and walked carefully to the steps.

"Nicholas, what are you doing?" Robin called after him.

Nick felt his muzzle drop into a stoic, expressionless stare. "Gaining the high ground," he said in a voice so calm it was all he could to keep from shuddering.

His ascension began dramatically: each step was deliberate, careful, and his paw kept a firm grip on the flaming bottle. With every move, his body became more and more at peace, ceasing its frantic thoughts of uncertainty and panic. The bottle began to feel natural in his paw. The flickering light bounced against the wall unevenly. Here came the second floor…

Nick turned immediately to the right, using one leg as a pivot while the other swung around to continue his even pace. The banister kept him on the straight, narrow floorboards, aiming towards another right turn. Like a soldier, he took another tight spin and beelined for the window ahead of him, speeding up a little. He could hear the hurried footsteps of Robin and Marian behind him, but it didn't matter. So long as this kept Prince John's guards from breaching the house.

A latch lay locked in the wooden frame of the window, but it proved no match for Nick's hooked claw. He flipped the device and pushed the window open, looking down onto the moonlit siege party below. Torches lit the semicircle, sprouting from different paws in erratic locations. In an instant, he had located Prince John and Beothr. The prince's shoulder was bandaged, and blood had obviously seeped through it. Nick smiled, proud of himself. Beothr caught his eye, though, and got Prince John's attention. The wounded lion turned his gaze upwards.

"Ah, the long-lost brother of Robin Hood!" he boomed, his twisted smile growing with each passing second. "You're not who you say you are, that much is certain."

"Oh, trust me, buddy," Nick called down, "everything you think about me is wrong."

"Fascinating." Prince John brought one paw to his chin and supported his elbow with the forearm of the other. "And I believed you a formidable opponent." He looked to Beothr. "Shall we put forth our proposal now?"

A snarl of delight escaped Beothr's vile muzzle. " _Bring them out_!" he ordered, turning around to

Nick looked behind the two beasts to see what he meant. There were blurs moving about, but they were frenetic. They made no sense, formed no shape. Then they came into the light. A pair of guards came forward, pushing two prisoners in bags towards the house. One was bigger, and one was small. The henchmen stopped in perfect sync with each other and forced their captives down to their knees. Each grabbed their victims' bag with a single paw, and whipped them off.

Wolford and Little John were gagged with cloth and bound with iron chains, struggling against their restraints with vigor. Nick lost all rational thought: staggering backwards, he looked back at Robin and Marian, who were just joining him. "They've got Wolford and John," he panted. Without waiting for a reaction, he turned his attention to the two hostages.

"Since I'm feeling particularly merciful, I will grant you an opportunity to walk out of this house alive," the prince declared. "All you need do is tell me you wish to leave, and you may. However, should you choose to do so…" He laughed. "Your friends will die in your place."

The bottle of mead dropped to Nick's side, the arm that held it now too scared to lash out. His mind raced, immediately generating strategy upon strategy of wound-void escapes. His mouth opened to speak, to distract. "Not big on betrayal, thanks. Say, speaking of betrayal, when are you planning on killing your brother?" He folded his arms on the windowsill and leaned out into the cold night, taunting the most powerful animal in the village.

"Plans have been set in motion," the prince drawled lazily, "but I must press the urgency of the matter at hand. You have ten minutes to decide whether you will choose freedom…" He paused as if to savor the words. "Or death. If you are half the fox Robin is, then I'm sure you two will come up with an answer rather quickly."

Nick ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. "Okay, this is good," he muttered as he pulled the top half of his body back into Marian's house. "They're giving us time to mull it over. Should give me enough time to think of a plan B."

"Like what?" Robin asked, his eyebrow skeptically raised and his tone the dwelling place of little faith. "All we have are two burning bottles of mead."

For the first time since he had got here, Nick didn't know what to do.


	18. This Is Now Officially The End

It's kind of a sad moment for this story. As of late, I've noticed that not only am I releasing chapters too few and far between for the plot development to be interesting, but the quality of my writing has been dropping exponentially as I've progressed through the events. I keep writing the same old boring dialogues between the same two characters, using the same descriptive jargon and sentence structure. Long story short, my heart's not in it anymore. Ironically, "long story short" fits this "chapter" pretty well. Why? Because this is the last chapter of the entire book. After this, _I'll Be Back In Time_ will cease to continue.

However, it's not all in vain. Because, as opposed to some of the writers on this website, I believe that planning the events of your story out and tying them in to later decisions and conflicts is absolutely crucial to writing a good story. Therefore, I have everything I wanted to write planned out. And since this will be the last chapter I write, I see no rational reason to keep the big ending a secret. So via a paragraph-by-paragraph basis, here's what was _going_ to happen in each chapter:

 **18:**

Chapter 18 kicks off with what you'd expect: a heated argument between Robin and Nick concerning the deal Prince John struck with them. The latter uncovers the secret method of a casualty-free escape for all parties—the wonderful strategy of distraction. By throwing a flaming mead bottle out of a window behind the house, they successfully lure enough of the guards away from the front for Wolford and Little John to break free and run, Nick and Robin close behind. Beothr, the evil demon bear, refuses to give chase, and Robin overhears him and Prince John arguing about it. Beothr's motive for remaining at his post is that he "wants to make the whole cursed village watch as I strip the flesh from Hood and all his thieving accomplices."

Naturally, Nick has a few questions about the guy, since he apparently has a history with Robin. The righteous bandit divulges his secret: while in the crusades, Robin was part of a scouting party. One night, they were all huddled around the fire when Saracens jumped out and grabbed them. Beothr, their leader, chose Robin to live and spread the word of an evil bear that lived in the desert. The rest of the scouts were brutally murdered: eviscerated, throats crushed, lungs ripped from their chest—the bright and happy stuff. Nick is filled with vindictive rage, hoping to encounter the bear yet again.

 **19:**

Nick wakes up in the middle of the night to find that Robin has disappeared again. He silently leaves the hollowed-out tree and tracks his ancestor down, finally finding him at the side of a lake, down on both knees. He can hear a whispering, pleading voice coming from Robin, occasionally broken up by stifled sobs. Robin finishes and stands up. Once Nick locks eyes with him, he asks him what the problem might be. Approximately two weeks ago, he learns, God came to Robin in a dream and prophesied his death. Before the king returned, Robin would lose his life and ascend to the heavens. Nick, realizing this means that he'll never exist, denies it, but Robin insists that it will happen, since "the Lord has never steered us wrong." (Yes, the whole crusading thing was a problem, but since this version of the story has a snake hypnotize a lion into thinking God told him to slaughter every living creature in the Middle East, it's technically not God's fault. Nick, now paranoid that is bloodline will die, starts to think that the best thing to do is keep Robin away from any possible threats while he, Wolford and Little John combat the prince's guards. This, of course, does not sit well with Hood, and he refuses to let everyone else risk their lives for him while he lays in comfort without a care in the world. He does, however, return to the camp with Nick.

 **20:**

Wolford wakes Nick up again, only this time, it sounds more urgent. Nick follows him into the forest, where they find a courier lying on his side, gasping and clutching his stomach in the middle of a pool of blood. Upon questioning him, they discover that King Richard returns the very next day. Attempts to save the wounded soldier are futile, and he ultimately dies of his wound. Before he dies, he urges them to look in his satchel for proof. The two find a letter sealed with a fancy insignia. On their way back, Nick learns that the last supply drop from their mysterious benefactor was taken by Prince John. What it was, they don't know, but the fact that it's in the paws of the enemy is bad enough.

Robin and Little John are both still sleeping when they return, so Nick wakes them to deliver the news. Robin asks to see the letter and confirms that it's the king's royal seal. He reads aloud that the king expects to return on the twenty-third of December, which is tomorrow. Realizing that time is of the essence, they pay a visit to Nottingham to recruit a few spies.

 **21:**

Robin and Little John lead Nick and Wolford to a house and tell them to hide somewhere and wait while they go in. Nick watches as Skippy and friends visit with the outlaws, and starts pining for kids. Wolford notices and reminds him that Judy was looking to have kids, too, before they got zapped back in time. Nick acknowledges it, but starts questioning himself. "You think I'd be a good father?" he finally asks, to which Wolford replies, "Trust me, Wilde, it's instinct. Good father? You'll be an idol to your kids."

The two green-shirted medieval robbers come back and inform them that Robin managed to get the kids to become spies, telling them to keep count of all the guards that go in and out of Prince John's castle throughout the day. A couple of guards round the corner, but the four are hidden well enough to avoid detection. But Nick sees that each of them are wearing Kevlar body armor around their entire torsos—the stolen supplies they had lost yesterday.

 **22:**

The four find their new hideaway completely ravaged, searched thoroughly by someone. Little John starts to panic, realizing that the letter is gone. Now the enemy knows that King Richard will be back tomorrow, and are undoubtedly planning an ambush tonight. The group journeys to the supply stash that Wolford made and grab gear: tranquilizer weapons, rations, and the like. It's dusk before they finish, and they travel to the village to confront the prince.

 **23:**

Upon arriving at Nottingham, the place appears deserted by guards, leaving only villagers in sight. Skippy and his friends show up and tell Robin that all of the guards have convened in the castle for some kind of special event. With no time to delay, the group takes off for the castle, ready for combat.

They all burst in on thousands of guards, who immediately turn around and point weapons at them. But Beothr's voice cuts through, taunting the heroes to "test your prowess against my blade." Robin volunteers, striking a bargain: if Beothr wins, he can kill his opponent, but if Robin wins, Prince John willingly relinquishes the throne and allows his brother to assume total control over Nottingham. The deal is struck, and the combatants are forced into a circle comprised of guards. Little John, Nick, and Wolford join the circle so that they're positioned just behind Robin, and a guard bestows a sword to the challenger.

The battle starts, and Robin's agile nature seems to gain the upper paw. It's short-lived, though; once Beothr manages to hit the fox in the stomach with the grip of his greatsword, the battle unfairly favors the giant bear, until finally he swings his massive steel hard enough to twist the sword out of Robin's grasp. Robin falls to all fours, panting heavily, waiting for death.

Nick jumps in with a "new proposition to offer. You and I throw down. I win, same conditions: you surrender to the king. You win, you get to kill all four of us." Beothr thinks it a little unwise. After all, he did just fight another fox. So Nick spices it up: "I'll fight with my bare paws."

The fight starts just as you'd expect it—Beothr starts toying with Nick, wearing him down. But Nick uses his size and speed to his advantage, utilizing some of the paw-to-paw combat tactics he learned in high school marital arts. He eventually strikes a nerve in Beothr's knee, and the great bear drops down low enough for Nick to hit a pressure point on his neck, downing him instantly.

Prince John, though shocked, lets them go, but refuses to honor Beothr's agreement, saying that "His terms were not mine. I will not pay for the mistakes of incompetent animals." Nick starts trying to force him into a peaceful surrender to King Richard, but gets cut off by his buddies. Knowing that they can't stay long and still walk out alive, they leave rather hastily, debating how to fight off John's men.

 **24:**

Since all the guards are still meeting, the four go about the village secretly recruiting the denizens for their own commoner's army. With well over a thousand men, the odds are imbalanced, but not impossibly so; victory could theoretically be achieved. Robin instructs the enlisted soldiers to report to the Four-Legged Crossing when the moon comes out. (It's a four-way intersection for ancient civilizations.)

Strategy and tactics are argued over before the troops show up, each of the four animals believing that their own individual plan will succeed. Eventually, Robin has enough of it and strikes a compromise. They go around setting up traps in the dead of the night, toiling restlessly until the sun pokes up. Then they prepare for battle. As Prince John's army marches to meet King Richard's forces in an all-out war, the front line trips a hidden, but massive, IED made of a bunch of knives and other sharp objects housed in soda cans from the crate of MREs they got. Dozens of guards go down either dead or cursed with fatal wounds. A peasant blows the war horn, and the ambush ensues.

During the brutal fight, Robin takes an arrow to the right side of his abdomen, and he falls down. Nick panics and grabs him, cradling him in his arms as he runs to the church. Once he arrives, the friar sees what has happened and immediately starts trying to tend the wound. However, Prince John and a couple of guards storm in, restraining the badger and keeping him from helping Robin. The prince can't resist a gloating monologue, and draws a knife from his waist. Nick manages to go unnoticed since he hid behind the door as soon as he had set Robin down, and he walks up with the 50-caliber rifle and points it at Prince John's head.

It had all been part of their strategy: Wolford had sneaked into the town at night with the gun and placed it in the church, with the friar's permission. Robin had snapped an arrow's head off of the shaft and made some fake blood by squeezing various fruits and berries. When the time came, Robin smeared the arrow in honey and stuck it onto his fur, feigning an injury. All Nick had to do was act (something he had learned to do from hundreds of hustles) and get Prince John to follow them. Now that the leader was under duress, the war had been won.

The two crafty foxes tell the prince to call off his forces. Prince John tells his guards to call off the battle. As soon as they leave, he becomes an emotional wreck, with cries of "Ah! Mommy!" mumbling through his thumb. And with that, the battle for Nottingham was finished. Nick marched the prince out into the open, where the king met with John and scolded him before resuming control of the throne.

 **25:**

King Richard knights Nick and Wolford, giving them ceremonial swords to prove it. He, of course, questions their presence and why they ended up in Nottingham. Nick steps in and says that someone sent them here to protect justice and freedom. King Richard believes them, thanking them for their service and so on and so forth. Marian comes up and, after hugging Robin, hands Wolford a letter. The letter says that they'll be back in the modern age at noon today. They go about saying farewell and talking to various people, promising they'll be back soon. They then head out into the forest so people don't get suspicious about the green light that takes them back.

 **26:**

Nick comes back landing on the second floor of his house and hears Judy calling out to him ("Is someone there?") He runs downstairs, yelling her name and taking her in his arms. They have a teary reunion, and Judy tells him that it's been a month since she saw him. When she asks where he's been, he quickly replies with " I don't know." She urges him to get some rest because he looks pretty tired. He goes back upstairs and has an afternoon nap.

When he wakes up, it's dusk out. His ears pick up Judy's voice, but it's in hushed, urgent tones. Sensing that something's wrong, he sneaks down the stairs and overhears Judy talking to Clawhauser, who's supposed to be in jail. Eventually, Nick hears her say, "He was supposed to be there for a week, not a month!" and "Just be glad he kept Robin alive."

Nick confronts her, and she hangs up the phone quick. He manages to get her to confess everything: she was the one that wanted him to get sent back, so she got in contact with Clawhauser. Clawhauser talked to a buddy, who worked for the government, and targeted the two foxes to send them back once Nick touched Robin's paw. From there, Clawhauser's friend sought out supply drops with useful things in them and sent them back in time to the general vicinity of Nottingham.

Naturally, Nick wants reasons. Judy replies simply, "I didn't want to lose you." She wanted to make sure Robin didn't die, because if he did, then Nick would never exist, and she didn't want to lose the only love she ever had. While sympathetic, Nick scolds her a little, but is quick to forgive. At one point, she asks him about what happened and he tells her about the siege in Marian's house. He uses the phrase "Molotov cocktail," but she doesn't understand what he's talking about. He describes it, and she says, "Oh, you mean a _Nottinghamian_ cocktail." Since the weapon was first used in Nottingham, the term is changed. Then he asks if he can go back for one more day. She agrees and asks him when he wants to go. He replies, "Christmas, Carrots. I want to give them gifts."

 **27:**

Nick shows up in Nottingham again with a sack full of gifts. He gives Robin a compound bow ("it takes the weight off of your arm so you can shoot with less effort"), a New King James Bible for the friar, and an assortment of toys for Skippy and his posse. Friar Tuck remarks, "If I didn't know better, Nicholas, I'd think you were a saint!" Robin perks up as he hears it and says:

"Hm. Saint Nicholas. I like the sound of that."

Nick's smile drops as he realizes what's happened: he, Nicholas Wilde, had become the most iconic holiday figure of all time. Trying to divert his attention from the matter, he notices a ring on Robin's finger. The fox had had his noble title and all of his land given back to him by the king. He used his wealth to buy a set of matching rings for himself and Marian. He proposed to her underneath a waterfall, which she accepted.

The story ends with Nick coming back, talking to Judy, and getting dragged into the bedroom, and the last thing that happens is Judy's closing of the door.

* * *

And there you have it. More or less the entire thing in one go. I felt like adding in the Nottinghamian cocktail and Saint Nick thing because it put kind of a personal touch to it. At any rate, this is where the story ends. For those of you who truly enjoyed it, I'm sorry that it ended this way. I hope you liked it.

If you enjoyed the writing, then I encourage you to check out the short story I published on Amazon, entitled "Scapegoat." It's the first chapter of the book I'm writing, and it's sci-fi action. For those of you who are into the anthro animal thing, there's an entire race of space wolves, and they play a major role in the outcome of the story. So be sure to check that out if it sounds at all appealing to you.

It's been fun, but everything has to stop at some point. This is officially the end of _I'll Be Back In Time_. Thanks for tuning in.


End file.
